


We're All A Little Mad

by heartsdesire456



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsdesire456/pseuds/heartsdesire456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The last thing John expected when he got home from a long day at the surgery was for Sherlock to spring out of seemingly nowhere and drop onto the couch beside him just as he’d kicked off his shoes and announce, “Right, I’ve done some research and I believe we should be married."</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>John and Sherlock weren't even dating when Sherlock began listing reasons they should marry. At first, John thought he was completely out of his mind. However, after a failed date with the perfect woman, John is forced to realize that maybe Sherlock isn't so far off base after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're All A Little Mad

**Author's Note:**

> I dont know WHERE this idea came from, but I really am glad I had it. I LOVE this one and I hope you guys do too!
> 
> (NOTE: Yes, I'm aware Sherlock is slightly OOC in a few places but I really do LIKE giving him a more human side.)
> 
> By the way: Tell me if there's a paragraph problem in 2 places (shouldn't be but if there is tell me) because it did something weird when pasting the document.
> 
> EDIT: I fixed some typos (there are probably more, I'm sure) and idk what the hell was up with the arbitrary italics because it wasn't in my coding, it was just something AO3 decided to do. It seems fixed now.

The last thing John expected when he got home from a long day at the surgery was for Sherlock to spring out of seemingly nowhere and drop onto the couch beside him _just_ as he’d kicked off his shoes. “Right, I’ve done some research and I believe we should be married,” Sherlock announced without preamble.

John turned to him and frowned in confusion. “Sherlock, what the bloody hell makes you think we should be married- no, wait, better yet, what research could possibly lead to that conclusion?” he demanded tiredly.

Sherlock frowned. “Hmmm, bad day at work? Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk,” he said and John just stared as Sherlock stood and walked away without another word. 

John sighed and shook his head, relaxing into the couch. “Complete nutter, that one,” he muttered tiredly to the empty room.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It was two days later before Sherlock broached the subject again- once again at random- while they were waiting beside Lestrade’s police car to give their statements after catching an art thief. “So the other day I mentioned it, but you never did answer on the idea of marriage.”

John shot him a look. “Sherlock, why on earth should we get married?” he asked pointedly.

Sherlock smiled a smug smile that clearly said he had worked something out. “Because my research concludes that it is a logical step forward, obviously.” He held up a hand, producing fingers for each point. “We’ve lived together for several years now, we’re both technically middle-aged, we’re commonly injured and often have to lie our way into each other’s hospital rooms, it would do wonders for our taxes, Mycroft would probably stop trying to convince me you’re going to leave because I’m annoying, and I certainly expect it would be simpler than the multiple women you fail attempting relationships with every year while also restricting the number of unwanted attentions I get myself,” he said, giving John a look that clearly expected an answer.

John slapped a hand over his eyes and rubbed his face. “Sherlock, you’re missing a very _large_ point there,” he said, looking up. Sherlock tilted his head in confusion and John shook his head in exasperation. “You marry somebody you _love_ and want to spend the rest of your life with, not your mate because it’s convenient-“

Sherlock just frowned. “Well obviously I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you, why wouldn’t I?” he asked as if it were the most obviously thing ever.

John just gaped. “You _love_ me?” he demanded and Sherlock raised an eyebrow, looking at John as if he were the dimmest person to ever breathe.

“Do you really think I’d do so much for someone I only sort of liked?” he demanded and John gave a shocked laugh.

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock, if the way you treat me is how you treat somebody you love I’d hate to see how you treat people you don’t like,” he said, then groaned. “Alright, that clusterfuck of information aside, we aren’t even _dating_. You’re asexual and I’m straight, Sherlock.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not asexual, don’t be stupid.”

John glowered. “What the hell else do you call it when you don’t like sex?” he asked pointedly.

Sherlock shook his head with a hum. “No, I said I don’t bother, not that I don’t _like_ it,” he clarified. “Sex is tedious and dull in most situations so I don’t bother. Stupid people put me off _life_ , obviously I don’t want sex with them.” He shook his head. “Unlike my brother’s suggestions in the past, however, I’m not _actually_ inexperienced, just out of practice probably.” He sighed. “University was so long ago, wasn’t it? I wonder whatever happened to the man I was dating,” he mused and John just stared.

“You mean to tell me after _years_ living with you, you’re telling me you’re gay _now_ after denying it for ages?” he demanded.

Sherlock shrugged. “I’ve never denied it, just said I didn’t sleep with men, which I don’t. I don’t sleep with anybody, recently. Too boring,” he said, making a face.

John flushed suddenly. “Wait… so you’d sleep with _me_?” 

“Well, I suppose so, you’re not boring and clearly something keeps women coming after you,” he said and John glared. “What?” Sherlock asked innocently.

John just shook his head in exasperation. “So let’s just summarize,” he started, clearing his throat. “You think we should get married because it would be convenient, yet you conveniently forgot to mention in all the time we’ve known each other than you’re gay and you love me and would probably sleep with me.” He looked at Sherlock expectantly and he nodded.

“Yes, that about sums it up. Now, what do you say?” Sherlock asked with a patient look on his face.

John stared and then let out a bark of laughter. “I say you’re suffering from a brain injury of some sort! I knew you got hit in the head too much to not cause problems,” he said, shaking his head. 

Sherlock frowned. “I take it that’s not a ‘yes’-“

“Sherlock, that is a ‘you are clearly insane’!” John whispered. “For the love of God, what the hell is wrong with you?! You cannot seriously expect me to not be surprised to find out my best friend wants to _marry_ me!”

Sherlock sighed. “As always, I’m reminded that you’re still so _average_ even if you’re not as boring as most people,” he said with a disappointed look. “John, if you do not want to marry me, simply say ‘no, Sherlock, let’s not’, don’t act so confused-“

“I AM BLOODY CONFUSED!” John shouted, only to flush when half the people at the scene froze and looked over at them. He sighed and shook his head. “Look just… we’ll talk about this later,” he said simply, turning to walk away, putting a few yards between them.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“I just don’t understand why you are so upset-“ Sherlock called as he followed John as he stomped up the stairs.

“You are the dimmest genius I’ve ever fucking met, Sherlock Holmes-“

“Oh stop shouting, it’s entirely uncalled for-“

“SHERLOCK!”

“Boys?” The two men stopped to see Mrs. Hudson at the bottom railing peeking up. “Everything alright? I hate to hear you arguing like that,” she chastised and John sighed, leaning over the railing.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hudson, we’ll try and keep it down-“

Sherlock interrupted. “For the record, John, you’re the only one shouting-“

“Shut up, Sherlock, I’m trying to fucking apologize-“

“Language, John Watson!” Mrs. Hudson chastised, glaring up at him disapprovingly.

John cringed. “Sorry, Sherlock’s just annoying me, you know how it is,” he said and she laughed.

Mrs. Hudson tutted. “Oh don’t I know it, not that my husband was ever quite as easy to yell at, mind you,” she said with a motherly smile. “Just keep it down! I hate hearing you two having a domestic, it’s so upsetting,” she called, waving at them before heading back down the hall to her house.

Sherlock hummed. “See? She suggested we’re like she and her husband-“

“The one you help make sure he got executed,” John pointed out and Sherlock shrugged. He snorted and turned to head into the flat. “Maybe that is an apt comparison because God knows you’ll end up sending me to an early grave, I’m sure of it,” he grumbled as he shook off his jacket, hanging it up to head into the kitchen. Tea was more than called for.

Sherlock followed him and leaned against the counter next to him. “I still wish you would explain why your reasons for saying ‘no’ are more accurate than my reasons to support the idea of marriage.”

John just shot him a flat look. “Sherlock, what about the simple fact that I like women- you are not one- and as flattered as I am that you have feelings for me, I don’t love you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “False, you love me, it’s fairly obvious.”

John glared. “So you’re saying you know my own personal feelings better than I do? I think I know my own heart-“

“Well, evidence suggests the contrary,” Sherlock said, walking around to sit down at the table. “You look after me, you always come when I call for you, no matter how inconvenient, you fix things I’ve broken, you get worried when I get into trouble, and you’re always at my side when I need you.”

John nodded. “Yeah, I’m not denying I care for you, Sherlock, you’re my best mate, but there’s a very big difference in caring for a friend and being in love. Yet again, that whole ‘likes women’ thing comes into effect.”

Sherlock shot him a bored look. “John,” he said as if he was speaking to an absolute imbecile. “You’re not stupid, you know I noticed your attraction to me long ago, why do you deny it _now_?”

John stared. “You think I’m attracted to you?”

“I know you are!” Sherlock argued. “You look at me and smile this stupid little affectionate smile and sigh, then sometimes you look at me like you’re gonna shove me into a wall and have your way with me, it’s somewhat disturbing but slightly erotic, I’ll admit,” he added. “And you don’t just ‘care for your friend’, you get angry whenever someone hurts me, you have shot multiple people when I was in danger, you get visibly upset when people call me names, you fuss over me when I’m injured or ill, you make sure I eat, you get worried I’m not warm enough or too warm for the weather, you tell me all these lies about how I’m not a ‘freak’ because you don’t want me to feel upset even though you know I don’t _get_ upset, and no matter how angry you get, you would never actually turn your back on me because you treat me as if I were the center of your world and that’s the same way I feel about you so clearly I’m not _wrong_ in concluding that you love me the same way I love you,” he concluded. 

John glowered. “I do not get stupid smiles and sigh,” he argued and Sherlock smirked.

“You do too,” he said and John spluttered, turning to pour the now-heated water into his mug. “John,” Sherlock said, startling John when his voice was nearer in spite of John having heard nothing that made it seem he moved. John looked over his shoulder and Sherlock was on his side of the table now, standing a few feet away. John turned fully when he saw the honesty in Sherlock’s eyes as his face settled into a grimace. “If you do not want to marry me, just say so. I will understand. But lying about not loving or being attracted to me is beneath you. You are too honest of a man for that sort of deception. I promise, nothing has to change if you do not want it to.” Sherlock looked into his eyes. “But think of this: Do you honestly think that you’ll one day leave me for good or do you intend to always be at my side?” Sherlock looked away. “Because I cannot imagine a life in the future alone again after everything we’ve gone through so far.”

John bit his lip and looked away, stirring his tea as he tried to imagine the reality of one day finding some other life that didn’t include Sherlock. John thought for so long, he didn’t even notice Sherlock had gone or that his tea had gone cold until he looked up to speak. 

“I don’t really know if I could leave you,” he said to the empty flat.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Sherlock didn’t come home that night and John didn’t sleep a wink because he didn’t know where he was and if he was alright.

It wasn’t until nearly three in the morning that Greg texted him.

_Alright, I’m meant to go home in ten minutes. Come collect Sherlock from my office. I will throw him in lock-up if I have to, John_

John felt like an idiot dragging his arse out of bed at that time of the morning, but he knew how much Mycroft hated getting Sherlock out of jail and, truth be told, John was just as annoyed by Mycroft’s kidnapping him about being a bad friend as Sherlock was about Mycroft’s meddling. 

When John got to Greg’s office, he wasn’t shocked to see Lestrade with his coat on and his keys in his hand trying to chivy Sherlock out the door while dragging the evidence files out of Sherlock’s hands one at a time. “For the love of God, get OUT of my office and let me go home!” He looked up and noticed John coming up. “JOHN! Thank GOD, collect your annoying friend and take him _home_ ,” he pleaded.

Sherlock stiffened, looking over at John, then sighed. “ _Lestrade_ , you’re the one that is being uncooperative,” he argued, then crossed his arms, sending a small smile at John over Greg’s shoulder as John saw him slipping a file into his coat. John rolled his eyes, biting back a grin in return.

“Sherlock,” he started, trying to be stern, though his amusement at Sherlock pilfering a couple more photos right out of Greg’s hand while he wasn’t looking was very great. “Just because we have a row doesn’t mean you can come annoy Greg,” he chastised, faking a cough to cover his laugh when he saw Sherlock take another sheet from inside the file right in Greg’s hand.

Greg snorted. “You had a row? That explains it, every time he screws up and makes you angry he comes to bother me,” he said, glaring at Sherlock, who looked nonchalant as ever. “So, what did he do this time? Set your flat on fire?” Lestrade asked John, who just cringed and looked away.

“Worse, made him miss his evening tea,” Sherlock offered with a mocking solemnity.

John just sighed. “Oh c’mon, you arse,” he said, grabbing Sherlock’s coat sleeve. “Come home and plan up ways to ruin people during normal daylight hours. Come bother Greg when he’s back on shift tomorrow evening,” he said and Greg let out a loud ‘OI!’ though they kept walking.

Sherlock and John managed to hold back their smiles until the lift doors closed and then Sherlock glanced at John and they promptly both burst into giggles. “Did you _see_ how oblivious he was?!” Sherlock asked through his laughs and John nodded, grinning.

“Oh God, he must be half asleep, it’s the only way,” he snickered and Sherlock smirked.

“Or he’s really as dim as he seems,” he countered, giving John a small smile. “Sorry he woke you, I wasn’t aiming for that,” he assured and John waved a hand and sighed.

“Couldn’t sleep anyhow,” he said, looking at their reflections in the lift doors. He leaned back against the rail and sighed. “You’re going to be the death of me, Sherlock Holmes,” he said, shooting him a narrow eyed look that lacked any real heat. He yawned. “You’ve driven me crazy for years, why do I bother keeping you around?” he asked tiredly.

Sherlock gave him a sad smile. “Sense of duty?” he offered and John huffed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m too tired for another argument, Sherlock,” he groaned weakly.

Sherlock nodded. “No, I agree,” he said, looking away. “I’m sorry for misjudging our situation and making you uncomfortable and angry at me,” he said and John whined, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“Don’t do that,” he sighed and Sherlock frowned.

“Don’t do-“

John spluttered. “The thing where you get all bloody _sincere_ and make me feel like the bastard because I hurt your feelings!”

Sherlock just tilted his head. “But I hurt you all the time.”

John nodded. “Yeah, but I’m more easily upset, I’m the one with ‘normal’ emotions, not the one made of stone. If you’re upset then clearly something has gone terribly wrong and I have a real conscience so I feel like an utter _bastard_ for doing or saying something so bad it hurt the barely-human.”

When they left the lift and headed out through the lobby to get to the street, Sherlock walked in silence.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
After a few days, things seemed to be back to normal. The awkwardness had subsided and John felt that Sherlock had gone back to his usual self. If anybody had asked, he’d say that it had all been more like a strange dream than a reality. However, it was only three weeks after Sherlock’s shocking marriage suggestion that John ran into a problem.

A temporary nurse at the surgery had asked him out to dinner- the first date he’d had in months- and John was genuinely excited about going out with someone after the last girlfriend had completely read him the book on why he was a horrible boyfriend. Lane, the nurse, was a very beautiful woman, in John’s opinion. She was bright, funny, and positively charming. She had long, wavy red hair, big green eyes, plump lips, and a beautiful figure. John was amazed that at his age there were women that beautiful still single, none the less ones that wanted to date him. He had refrained from mentioning he had a date to Sherlock, just in case Sherlock still wasn’t over his temporary insanity, but he figured Sherlock knew where he was going. All through dinner, Lane was entertaining, easy to relate to, and all around a nice woman. It was an absolute hit of a date and John was shocked at how nice things had gone…

Until they left and he walked Lane home. 

The restaurant was only a few blocks from her apartment and John thought she would appreciate someone to walk her home since it was decently late at night. When they got to her flat, she thanked him for a nice time and leaned in to kiss him. It was only then that John really realized what had been missing from the date…

He had barely felt anything for her at all. She was gorgeous, available, and absolutely his type in every way. They got on, they had things to talk about, and she seemed like the perfect woman. Yet the entire evening he’d felt more like a night out with a friend rather than a _date_ and it was only cemented by the fact that Lane kissing him made him feel pretty much nothing. It was nice, she was a decent kisser, but his traitorous mind interrupted by supplying the thought, _I bet Sherlock’s lips would be nicer._ John tried his hardest to ignore the thought until a second floated across his mind. _I feel more shivers down my spine when Sherlock looks into my eyes than this._

It was the final straw. “Damn it,” John groaned as he broke the kiss, turning his head. 

“Sorry?” Lane asked and John cringed, stepping back.

“I am so sorry,” he started and she gave him a surprised look. “No! You’re great you’re…” He groaned, looking her over. “You’re absolutely perfect, honestly,” he said and she just tilted her head, looking puzzled. “But I can’t do this,” he admitted in defeat.

Lane crossed her arms, looking uneasy. “I actually thought things were going well,” she said, biting her lip.

John chuckled weakly. “God things were great. You’re smart and funny and beautiful and I had an amazing time with you tonight,” he said, then sighed, grumbling. “But I’m just… not seeing it happening between us,” he said, cringing when she looked away, insecurity flitting across her face. “No! It’s not you, it’s-“

“Don’t do the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, John,” she said and he scoffed.

“I wish it was that,” he said, glaring at the door beside him. “It’s my blooding stupid best friend, that fucking wanker,” he groused, earning a strange look. He gave her an apologetic look, putting his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “I kind of… might sort of be in love with my flat mate,” he admitted and Lane’s hard expression softened.

“Oh John,” she said apologetically and he sighed, leaning against the banister behind him. She laughed. “Well, at least you don’t just dislike me-“

“I really do like you,” he said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t kidding, you’re ridiculously perfect, if it wasn’t for his stupid perfection I’d be out of my mind for you, I’m sure,” he said absently. “He isn’t even _that_ good looking,” he said and Lane laughed.

“Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and all that,” she said, waving a hand.

John sighed, pouting somewhat immaturely. “Do you know I don’t even like men?” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I’m a nutter. I have to be. I just had a chance with the perfect woman and my damn brain has decided to focus on my annoying, insane, rude, arrogant, infuriatingly brilliant best mate all because he said had some mental breakdown a while back and decided we should be _married_ because ‘obviously’ that was the best step to take,” he rambled, looking up. “It’s insane. He said I loved him. He said it and I thought he was insane, I don’t even like men, and now I think that bastard was right.” He snorted. “Jesus, what is my life?”

Lane just laughed, smiling at him in amusement. “John, you can’t choose who your heart decides to love.” She squeezed his arm. “Besides, I doubt you’d be his best friend if he was as bad as you described him,” she said and he cringed.

“Actually he’s just as bad as I described him,” he said, then smiled fondly. “But yeah, there’s more to him than that, if I’m honest. He’s arrogant but on very rare occasion he is willing to sacrifice his pride to make me feel better- just me, he hates most people, honestly- and not to mention he’s infuriating, but only because he’s actually brilliant. He’s a genius, he’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever known of before. It’s incredible just being around him every day. I think I know him and he still blows my mind and I’m probably the first person in his life to not get angry at him being right all the time.” He smiled sadly, looking down. “I think I’m the only person who’s ever really given him a chance,” he added.

Lane smiled warmly and caught his hand between both of hers. “You know why I liked you?” she asked and he shook his head. “Because you were patient and kind to really annoying patients every day and I’d never see you lose your temper even in private. You’ve clearly got a good heart and if everybody else treats your friend like shit, either he loves you because you are different or you’re different because you love him. But either way, it seems like you did the right thing by ending this thing between us before it got going,” she said. She squeezed his hand. “Now you just need to suck it up and tell him.”

John whined dramatically. “You don’t know him, I swear you don’t. He’ll be _impossible_ ,” he hissed. “He’ll be smug and immature and will probably actually say ‘I told you so’ cause he’s always got one up on me and he _knows it_ -“

“And you’ll still love him, won’t you?” she asked and he paused, then looked up.

“You know… yeah, I probably will,” he admitted, then chuckled. “My sister’s right, I’m just a nutter on my own,” he said and Lane laughed. He smiled sadly. “He told me that he came to the conclusion we should get married because it was a logical step for two people who had lived together for years and wanted to make it that way forever.” He nodded to himself. “I honestly don’t know if I could imagine not being at his side for the rest of my life,” he admitted.

Lane smiled brightly. “Awwww, John!” She hugged him. “Go after your brilliant nutter then,” she said, pushing him away slightly. “You can tell me all about it at work Monday!” she said and John grinned.

“I really hope you meet a great guy who isn’t in love with a maniac,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek before waving and dashing off. “Goodnight!” he called, ignoring the laughter trailing after him as he jogged down the block, eager to get to the main road to get a cab and get home. He only hoped Sherlock hadn’t changed his mind.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John let out a sigh of relief when he found Sherlock standing in front of the refrigerator seemingly contemplating the foot sitting on the shelf. He stopped just inside the kitchen to regard him for a moment, just really looking at Sherlock, before realizing that, finally, he could see why women made passes at him often. John had never liked a man before, but looking at _Sherlock_ he really noticed that his ultra-sharp cheekbones, his strange face shape, and his mysterious eyes- while odd- were actually sort of beautiful. John knew that as a person, Sherlock was beautiful, but when he tried to see him, he mostly just saw his best mate, not an attractive man. Now, however, he could appreciate that Sherlock was indeed quite gorgeous.

“You’re home early,” Sherlock said in a small, tight voice. 

John cringed, already hearing the childish tone of voice. “Yeah,” he agreed and Sherlock sniffed.

“Date went badly, then?” he asked, shooting John a glance, only to stop and do a double-take. He closed the refrigerator and frowned, eyeing John. “The lipstick on your chin suggests it went well yet you are home early even if you had parted at the restaurant.”

John took a breath. “Actually, I walked her home,” he said and Sherlock’s brow furrowed. John walked a few steps closer and stopped. “Go ahead. Figure it out,” he said, watching as Sherlock’s mind began to whir, eyes flying everywhere. John would never get tired of it. Never would he get tired of Sherlock seeing things nobody else ever saw. It wasn’t ‘freakish’, it was brilliant.

“It makes no sense, if it went well, you walked her home, she kissed you, why are you home already if the date went well?” Sherlock asked, then looked closer. “You _ran_. Where did you run to? Why did you run? Did something happen, are you alright?” Sherlock asked quickly, eyes widening as he looked John over.

John shook his head. “No, I’m alright.” He sighed. “I ran to get to the main road and get a cab rather than just walk home,” he explained and Sherlock frowned.

“You hate taking cabs unnecessarily, you walk everywhere-“

“I was in a hurry,” John interrupted, willing Sherlock to use his brilliant mind.

Sherlock sniffed. “I don’t understand. The date went well, you liked her, why would you be in such a hurry to get home rather than with some _woman_ ,” Sherlock spat, as if the word was disgusting. John smiled slightly as Sherlock’s jealousy showed. “Whatever, not my business, right? You always tell me that I’m nosy-“

“For fucks sake, you are being stupid for someone so bloody brilliant!” John cried out in frustration, shocking Sherlock silent. John strode to him purposefully and looked up at him. “Deduce this,” he challenged, looking into his eyes. “Deduce why I’m home. Tell me what could make me leave in such a hurry if I had a good date. You’re brilliant, just see it,” he urged.

Sherlock stared, looking closer. “I… I can’t,” he admitted, looking pained. He stepped back. “No I always can, just…” He made a frustrated sound and looked at John harder. “You had a good date, you walked her home, she kissed you, but you still left in such a hurry to get home that you ran, why?” he pondered and John smiled, very amused at Sherlock’s failed deduction.

“Alright, alright, don’t hurt yourself,” John teased, biting his lip as he looked at Sherlock, steeling himself. “I kissed her and could only think about your lips and how just looking at you makes me feel more than I did for Lane- who was literally the PERFECT woman- and it wasn’t hard to work it out from there.”

Sherlock gave him a surprised look. “You… like me?”

John snorted, laughing. “You arsehole. Just tell me when,” he said and Sherlock stood tall, frowning down at him.

“When what?”

“Come off it,” John argued, grinning. “You told me I loved you before I knew I did. How long have I loved you?” he asked.

Sherlock gave him a warm, tender smile. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “That’s the thing about you, John Watson. Anytime I think I’ve got you figured out, you go and surprise me.” He reached out to touch John’s cheek. “It’s why you’re the most amazing yet infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

John hummed. “Clearly we both share a love for being irritated then,” he said and Sherlock gave him a look that spoke volumes. John’s smile softened and rolled his eyes with a fond grin. “I love you, you idiot.”

Sherlock’s smile lit up, surprising John with its genuineness. “I love you too,” he said breathlessly, almost childlike in his earnestly. John wasn’t used to such but wasn’t surprised in the least. 

Sherlock always had been more like a giant toddler than anything else.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Apart from a knowledge of each other’s affections, nothing really changed for several days. John hadn’t really known what to do and whether or not Sherlock would be receptive if he did try some affectionate touch or possibly a kiss. He figured he may not mind it, but he didn’t know if he’d welcome it.

It was several days later when Sherlock came into the flat in a huff. “John! John, make him go away!” he demanded and John looked up from his laptop to see Mycroft following him into the flat. Sherlock came over and sat next to him on the couch, pulling his knees up. “He’s being annoying, as ever.”

John hummed. “And?” he asked, tilting his head back to eye Mycroft. “Hello, Mycroft.”

Sherlock pouted- deny it all he wanted, Sherlock DID pout- and nudged John with his elbow. “Aren’t you supposed to be… protective or something? He’s a hazard to my mental health.”

John snickered. “I’m meant to be protective? Didn’t know,” he said, then looked up. “Mycroft, do leave your brother alone, his mental health is very delicate-“

“I am no _delicate_!” Sherlock hissed, earning another snicker from John. 

Mycroft eyed them curiously. “Ah, so Sherlock’s proposal went well? I must say I’m shocked, Dr. Watson, I didn’t think you’d follow through with his lunacy,” he admitted.

John raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t so much propose as tell me what he thought we should do,” he corrected. “And no, not really, I still think he’s crazy as a bat.”

Sherlock smiled. “Oh yes, you never did correct your answer to that sentiment,” he said to John expectantly.

John eyed him. “Sherlock, why should we _marry_? Yes, alright, you’re… important to me,” he allowed. “But we’re still not _dating_ even.” He cringed. “Not a conversation I wanted to have in front of your brother, by the way.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Dating? I can do that, would you like to go to dinner? It’s a bit early, but I haven’t got any cases now-“

John smiled. “Sherlock, I meant more along the lines of the fact we’re not really a couple, generally that’s the first requirement of marriage.”

Sherlock looked confused. “A couple of what?”

Mycroft made a sound of amusement- startling enough on its own- and gave John a look. “Oh yes, you have impeccable tastes, John. Optimal choice of a romantic partner. I do wonder if maybe you are the one whose mental health we should consider-“

“Don’t call him crazy, JOHN is not crazy, you are,” Sherlock barked, glaring.

John just sighed in frustration and stood up. “Alright, I’m not getting in the middle of you two again. Last time I feared for my life. Evening Mycroft,” he said, turning to head up to his room, shaking his head as he heard the bickering start up as soon as he’d reached the stairs.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John was at his office when his phone rang. He sighed when he saw the caller ID read “Her Majesty” and picked it up. “Mycroft, tell your brother to leave my phone alone!” he said as he answered.

Mycroft sighed. “Really, John. You have more of a leash on Sherlock than any man alive- wait, no, that is not a suggestion,” he said and John flushed.

“OI! Mind out of the gutter, you’re meant to be the tactful one of you two!” John complained. “What is it this time, Mycroft?” he asked pointedly.

Mycroft chuckled. “Actually, I have an early wedding gift for you two. Thought you’d take the news better than Sherlock-“

John groaned. “Mycroft, we’re not-“

“As of tomorrow morning, same-sex marriage is fully legal in Britain. No more Civil Partnerships. Figured you and Sherlock would enjoy that,” Mycroft interrupted.

John gaped. “Wait… so you are so supportive of Sherlock marrying someone that you _made it legal_?! An issue of great political controversy and you just… made it happen?” he demanded.

“Well, yes,” Mycroft said simply. “Although mostly it’s because I suspect marriage would make it easier for you to tame my brother and you’re a very traditional man, I thought you would appreciate actually being _married_ and if you’re happy, Sherlock is less likely to deface public property.”

John looked down at his desk. “Mycroft, clearly you miss the part where Sherlock and I aren’t getting married. He suggested it weeks ago but I was completely unaware there was any sort of feelings between us so obviously I said he was bloody mad. We’re still not really a couple now-“

“John, we both know that Sherlock wants to marry you and you only say no to Sherlock when it’s something detrimental to him or dangerous to you and your home. I’m not stupid, in spite of whatever Sherlock may tell you,” Mycroft said before clearing his throat. “I must go, a lot of backlash to prepare for after tomorrow. Good afternoon, John.”

And without another word, he hung up, leaving John gaping at the lamp on his desk as though it had personally offended him.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John just hummed as he looked at the paper. “I’ll be damned, that bastard did it.”

Sherlock looked up from his microscope curiously. “Which bastard?” he asked and John chuckled.

“You’re brother,” he said, turning the paper around so Sherlock could see the cover.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and he huffed. “Mycroft is such a show-off,” he said and John grinned. “Wait, how did you know-“

“Called me,” John said, then smirked. “You didn’t know already? You’re getting slow, Sherlock,” he said and Sherlock spluttered indignantly. 

“I AM NOT SLOW!” He pouted. “Besides, Mycroft’s better than most. He always gets away with more than others when it comes to sneaking past me.” He scanned the article. “I assume this is Mycroft’s way of saying he approves of us marrying. Damn.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Damn?”

Sherlock nodded. “I hoped he’d complain, not _approve_ ,” he grumbled.

John grinned, shaking his head. “You know, you two keep mentioning, but I’ve still not agreed to anything,” he pointed out and Sherlock gave him a pointed look. “What?”

“You shoot people for me but you won’t marry me?” he asked and John smirked.

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying I haven’t _agreed_ yet.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, then smiled. “Oh.” He pushed his microscope aside and leaned forward, looking into John’s eyes without any obstructions between them. “John, let’s get married,” he suggested brightly.

John smiled a tiny smile and sipped his tea. “Properly,” he mumbled and Sherlock made a face.

“John Watson,” he began in a very serious tone. “Would you please do me the honor of becoming my husband?” he asked, face somber though John could see the mirth in his eyes.

John giggled, shaking his head. “Sherlock, we’ve never even kissed,” he said and Sherlock sat up.

“Is that your only objecting?” he asked and John sighed but smiled.

“Fine, you nutter, I’ll marry you.” He groaned. “Jesus I’m insane. I’m full on barmy. I’m going to be locked up in a padded room eventually, you too. We’re both barking mad,” he said and Sherlock huffed.

“Yes, wonderful, best marriage agreement ever. Mentions of mutual mental instability, so romantic,” Sherlock muttered, pulling his microscope back in front of him.

John grinned, turning back to his article. “Yes, well you hate romance, you find it very dull, so you’re welcome,” he said, too busy reading to notice the fond smile Sherlock sent his way, examining him over the eyepiece of his microscope.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John was just finishing with a flu-infected six year old when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He waited until he got to his office to answer it. Only to smile when he saw how many came before the last one.

_Should we begin planning for a wedding?- SH_

_What does that entail?- SH_

_Would you rather just sign the papers?- SH_

_If I tell my mother we may have to have a wedding.- SH_

_When should we get married?- SH_

_I’m terribly unused to such normality, John- SH_

John smiled fondly and shook his head before typing out a response.

_Let’s go to dinner when I get off shift and we can talk all about it. We can call it a date and spend our first date planning our wedding. Because we’re both mad._

John did not expect an almost immediate reply, but laughed when he read it.

 _Better than being normal- SH_  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John smiled when he saw Sherlock sitting at the very same table in Angelo’s where they’d sat the first night they came here. “Think he’ll suddenly start believing we’re not a couple now that we actually are?” he asked as he sat down across from Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked. “So you finally admit we’re a couple?” he teased and John rolled his eyes.

“Well I did agree to marry your crazy arse, if nothing else we’re a couple of nutters,” he said and Sherlock gave him a small grin that before hiding it behind his menu. After they ordered, John looked up at Sherlock. “So… wedding?” he asked and Sherlock hummed.

“If we tell my mother beforehand, yes. If not we could possibly get away without,” he said and then shrugged. “Not sure who would come to our wedding anyhow. Mrs. Hudson, my brother, and maybe Lestrade. Possibly your sister,” he said and John smiled.

“I don’t know, people come to weddings that don’t go to other things. I’m sure old friends you haven’t seen in a while, more distant relatives, they’d all come.” He tilted his head. “But if you would be more comfortable with something less formal, I don’t mind. You’re the one that gets jumpy around average people, I’m adequately housetrained,” John said and Sherlock gave him a playful glare.

“I wouldn’t actually mind it,” he admitted, sniffing. “If nothing else, it would be nice to rub it into the faces of few people that I’m marrying a good man and they can all piss off,” he said and John gave him an amused look.

“Sherlock Holmes, I thought you were above pettiness-“

“You did not, you think I’m immature often,” he argued, then smiled up at him. “Besides, remember my old ‘friend’ from the bank? Most of my relatives have the same view of me. Figure I’ll die in a gutter somewhere after my obviously imminent relapse,” he said with a comical sincerity.

John smirked. “So I’m your ‘good man’ then?” he asked.

Sherlock shrugged. “You’re a doctor war veteran, you’re handsome, you’re very clean-cut, and you’re painfully polite most of the time. Most of all you put up with me, pretty sure you’d be a saint to most of my relatives,” he pointed out.

John’s smile softened. “If you want to do it, we can, Sherlock. They can all see that you’re perfectly fine, your life is in order, and I know for a fact you’re not going to relapse because, for one, you’ve been clean for a long time now, and secondly, I won’t let you.”

Sherlock looked up with warmth in his eyes that John was not yet used to. “You always have bullied me into doing what’s best for me, John. Right from the start when we were more acquaintances than friends, you’ve always looked out for me. Most people gave up in the past but not you. It was one of the first things that made you stand out to me.”

“It’s just in my nature, Sherlock,” John said sincerely. “I care about you therefore I want to care for you. It’s how my mind and heart work.”

Sherlock nodded, biting his lip slightly as he smiled. “I know,” he said softly, eyes full of a wonder that John had never noticed before.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
On the ride home, John turned to Sherlock. “What kind of marriage is this even meant to be?” he asked, catching Sherlock’s attention.

“I’m assuming the kind that involves signing papers and saying ‘I do’?” Sherlock asked sarcastically, then sighed when John shot him a look. “You want to know how our relationship will be.”

“Yes,” John confirmed. “It’s just that we’re talking wedding plans and we’ve never even kissed, Sherlock,” he said, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “I’m with you here, I want this too, but is it even going to be a relationship? Will this be a platonic thing? A commitment of mutual affection? Or is it going to be a romantic relationship with kissing and sex and things like that? If it isn’t sexual, are we still going to sleep in the same bed? These are all valid questions,” John pointed out.

Sherlock looked at him with a slightly worried look. “Do you want it to be platonic? I understand you’re not actually attracted to men, but would that mean you still wanted to see women for sex?” he asked and John frowned. “I’m not… I’d agree to it, if you wanted that, but I have to warn you I’d be terribly jealous.”

John sighed. “No, Sherlock, what do you want? I love you, I will take you however you offer yourself to me. But gay or not, I’ve never seen you even look at a man in all the years I’ve known you. You don’t show the slightest attraction to anybody, not even just glancing as somebody passes.”

“Because you’re always there,” Sherlock admitted, looking down at his lap almost shyly. Sherlock was never shy. John gasped slightly and Sherlock looked up. “When you see me, you’re there with me. I don’t really have the attention span to focus on necessary things and appreciate you and still waste time looking at attractive men just because they are there.”

“Sherlock,” John said softly and Sherlock reached out to take his hand, pulling it between his own.

“You are fascinating, John. Yes, you are handsome, but I see _you_ and it’s captivating.” Sherlock looked into his eyes. “You surprise me when nobody else does. You mesmerize me when you realize something about me that nobody ever has. Every day you surprise me and I watch for it. I wait to see that surprise. I yearn to find something else to amaze me-“

John closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, more of a brush than anything else, squeezing Sherlock’s hands in his. “I couldn’t help it,” John mumbled when they pulled apart and Sherlock smiled brightly, eyes alight.

“That’s perfectly fine with me,” he said, looking away with a bright, happy look on his face that John saw so rarely.

He wanted to keep putting that smile on Sherlock’s face for as long as he possibly could.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John came downstairs with a yawn, hitching his RAMC sweatpants up as he stumbled through to the kitchen, rubbing blearily at his eyes on his way to turn on the kettle. He stopped, however, when he heard a woman clear hear throat and turned to look into the living room. He froze, blinking slightly when he saw Sherlock- fully dressed for once- sitting across from an older lady with silver-streaked black hair. She was elegantly dressed and eyed him in such a manner that he couldn’t help but blurt out, “You have to be Sherlock’s mother.” He froze then cringed. “Sorry-“

“John, this is my mother, Elizabeth,” Sherlock said, face straight but eyes twinkling with amusement at John’s reaction.

John smiled. “Morning,” he said, then eyed Sherlock. “Thanks for telling me your mother was coming, I didn’t need a heads up at all,” he said, blushing slightly when he looked himself over. “I’ll be right back,” he said, rushing out to run up the stairs.

Sherlock looked towards his mother, who just gave him a glance. “What?” he asked and she shook her head. “No Mummy, what?” he demanded.

“That is the ‘force of nature’ your brother speaks of?” she asked, chuckling. “A short, small, damaged soldier past his prime?”

Sherlock frowned. “John’s not like that at all,” he argued. “Well, alright he is short and small, but he isn’t any more ‘damaged’ than I am- which you so vehemently argue is not at all- and he’s still a fairly young man. It’s not like he’s old by any means. He’s young enough to run all over London with me and never fall behind even though I’m younger and taller.” He looked away. “John’s brave and loyal-“

“Synonymous with ‘stupid’, you know this-“

“Not when it comes to John,” Sherlock muttered angrily. “John’s saved my life a dozen times- probably more- and I’ve saved his _once_ and nearly ruined us both. He’s clever- for someone normal- and he makes me see the possible reasoning for bravery not being an act of stupidity. He isn’t just some ‘damaged soldier’, he’s so much more, Mummy, you can’t imagine.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at her son. “Why Sherlock, I never thought I’d see you so taken with someone,” she said and he leaned back, hands together.

“Yes, well neither did I.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John bit back a grin when he spotted Mycroft waiting at the restaurant Sherlock’s mother had insisted they went to for brunch. He counted down in his head until he heard Sherlock groan audibly. “Oh no, what’s _it_ doing here-“

“Sherlock Holmes, that is your only brother, don’t be rude,” his mother chastised. “You may be my little Angel but Mycroft is my firstborn child, don’t think I will let you be rude to my boy,” she said and John bit his lip, fighting a giggle only to meet Sherlock’s eyes and be forced to cough to cover his laughter.

“Do stop snickering, Dr. Watson, it’s terribly common of you,” Elizabeth interrupted and John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock as she walked on past them, going to greet her oldest son.

Sherlock gave John an apologetic look as they followed the two inside. They were led to a table near the back and John noticed on the way there that he was rather underdressed. Mycroft’s crisp suit looked more in place than anything. Sherlock was wearing his customary slacks and a too-tight button-down and even he looked a little underdressed without a tie and suit. John looked down at his khakis and jumper and cringed inwardly. When they sat, Sherlock and Mycroft stared each other down before Sherlock relented pulled out his mother’s chair for her. “I apologize for Sherlock, mother. He seems to have woken up on the wrong side of the sofa this morning,” Mycroft muttered and Sherlock glared before sitting next to John.

Elizabeth hummed. “Sofa, hmm? Already kicking him off to the couch, then?” she asked John, who gaped at the accusation.

“Sherlock doesn’t _sleep_ most nights, when he does he usually naps on the sofa, I haven’t kicked him off anywhere!” he defended, giving Sherlock an incredulous look.

Sherlock looked angry but embarrassed as well- a shocking combination for John to see- as he looked away. “Mummy, don’t listen to Mycroft’s lies,” he grumbled.

Mycroft gave Sherlock a smirk that John would’ve liked to slap off his face if he was back home. “It is actually true though, Mummy, they don’t sleep in the same bed for John to kick him out of. Besides, Sherlock can’t be too quickly judged. I’m sure he was planning on telling you about the wedding-“

John’s jaw dropped before he could stop himself. “You mean to say Sherlock didn’t even get to tell his own mother he’s engaged before _you_ went and did it for him?! How the hell did you even know? Neither of us have seen you since and CCTV cameras don’t have microphones,” he demanded.

Sherlock sneered. “Probably has cameras in the flat that _do_ ,” he said and John turned to glare at Mycroft, who looked absolutely nonplussed.

“Mycroft, one day I’m not going to stop Sherlock when he decides he should be an only child; Get your cameras out of our damn flat-“

“Believe me, John,” Mycroft interrupted. “I really do not want to discover anything more after discovering you intend to marry. There are many things in my brother’s life I’m perfectly happy never knowing about,” he said, earning angry looks from both Sherlock and John.

Elizabeth sniffed. “Well, now that we have that distasteful display behind us, how about we order,” she suggested and John reached out under the table and caught Sherlock’s hand, squeezing it comfortingly. Sherlock turned his hand over and laced their fingers together on his knee, glancing at John with an empty face but eyes full of gratitude. 

John held his hand until he needed it back because Sherlock’s family was driving him crazy so he knew Sherlock would be losing his mind over their rudeness. John knew Sherlock was far from tactful but it was somewhat ridiculous how above him Sherlock’s mother and brother seemed to think they were. He was only grateful that Sherlock had still had a salvageable personality left after years with those two.

After the ordered, Elizabeth turned to John. “So, Dr. Watson, you are a doctor, aren’t you? What sort? Surgeon?” she asked and John offered a tight smile.

“Well I was. I was a surgeon before I was deployed. I did my residency here in London but then I was sent off to Afghanistan. I am a physician now, not a surgeon as I started out as. Certification for front-line surgical teams in the Army doesn’t count as licensing for surgeons in a hospital so I’m just a physician. I work at a clinic,” he explained calmly.

Sherlock shifted almost imperceptivity and John glanced at him, only to see him glaring at his mother from over John’s shoulder. It didn’t stop her, however, because the next thing she said was, “Well, how mediocre of you.” John just stared.

“Mummy!” Sherlock hissed, keeping his voice low. “He is a _doctor_! How is that mediocre?! Mycroft took a politics degree and became a bloody _spy_ and I got kicked out of University because I was a junkie and have yet to have a real job yet you say the _doctor_ is mediocre?!”

She tutted. “Your brother’s career is perfectly respectable and I said mediocre, not _disappointing_. Not to say you don’t have a perfectly average career, Dr. Watson, I’m sure you do plenty of good for the common-“

“I’m suddenly understanding where you get your arrogance, Sherlock,” John said openly, then stood. “Right, I’m off, enjoy your brunch Mrs. Holmes, Mycroft.” He nodded to them and then leaned over and kissed Sherlock hard in front of both of them, scraping his nails along the back of Sherlock’s neck to make him whimper before breaking the kiss. “See you back home, love,” he said, sharing a downright evil smirk with Sherlock, who looked more than pleased, even if he was pink around the cheeks and neck.

John couldn’t help fight the grin on his face when several people gave him outraged glances on his way to the door. He didn’t care how immature it was, it had been worth the look on Mycroft and his mother’s face no matter how embarrassing it should’ve been.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“Rough day?” Greg asked when John caught him at the end of shift and asked him out for a pint. John laughed weakly and sighed.

“Oh yeah.” 

They had just been served and were sitting at the bar when Greg finally cracked. “Alright, out with it, what the hell got your day all messed up? Sherlock driving you mad because he hasn’t had a case in a while?” he asked. “Bad day at work? Girl stand you up?”

John snickered. “None of the above- well, work was shit, I got puked on by a four year old- but no,” he shook his head. “For once the Holmes driving me mad isn’t Sherlock. Bloody Mycroft’s meddling,” he grumbled and Greg chuckled.

“His brother? I’ve met him,” he said, shaking his head. “Picked me up off the bloody street when I’d first started working with Sherlock. I’ll see him every once in a while, lurking around watching. Nutters, the both of them.”

John scoffed. “They get it honestly, I’ve realized, totally fucking honest. I swear- AHH!” John shouted in alarm when arms closed around his waist.

“John! You are BRILLIANT!” Sherlock said, pulling him out of his chair to spin him around and hug him correctly. “You are amazing,” he said, beaming when he let John step back.

John laughed. “Blimey you nearly gave me a heart attack, do not sneak up on me like that, you nutter,” he said, shoving him off playfully before going back to his seat with Sherlock following, crowding against the bar beside John to face Greg. “Sorry, what was I saying?” John asked.

Greg stared blankly. “Did Sherlock just _hug_ you?” he asked, then looked at Sherlock. “Since when do you _hug_ anybody? Do you know how to hug?! Also did you _compliment_ John? I didn’t know you knew how to do anything but insult people!”

John snickered at the thoroughly confounded look on Lestrade’s face and Sherlock just smirked, nudging John. “That’s pretty much how my brother looked this morning, did you see?” he asked eagerly and John nodded. “God, you are perfect,” Sherlock sighed, looking at John as if truly seeing him for the first time. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do today,” he admitted and John snorted.

“Oh yes, saving your life many times is nothing compared to mentally scarring your brother,” he teased, nudging Sherlock. 

Greg looked at them as if they’d sprouted antlers. “What?” he asked weakly and John chuckled.

“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention we’re getting married?” he asked, nudging Sherlock when he snickered. Lestrade’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “That’s why my day was shit,” he added, rolling his eyes when Sherlock cleared his throat. “Not _THAT_ , because I met his mother because his brother told her we’re getting married before we told anybody, and she apparently doesn’t like ‘common’ people,” he mocked.

Sherlock sighed. “I am sorry for that. I feel as if she was probably given tons of misinformation from Mycroft. If I’d had a chance to explain better, she may not have been so…”

“Horrible?” John asked and Sherlock nodded, giving him an apologetic look. John sighed and shook his head. “Got to say, most people are impressed when I tell them I’m a fucking doctor, not disparaging,” he sighed.

Sherlock sighed. “The only reason I probably wasn’t disowned is because I’m her ‘little angel’ if we’re honest. I come from a wealthy family full of brilliant people, so I’m not even special there, Mycroft’s a government official with a lot of power in his hands, and I failed out of University, have never had a real job in my life, and shacked up with a war veteran in the end,” he said and John snickered.

“I was just telling Greg how I discovered your arrogance is clearly an honest family trait,” he said and Sherlock looked up to see Lestrade still staring. 

“You’re… together?!” he asked and Sherlock hummed.

“Clearly Lestrade hasn’t been in on all the gossip,” he joked and John smiled. 

John shook his head. “Don’t listen to him, it’s very recent,” he placated. “The nutter asked me to marry him and then I realized I actually wanted to. We worked out the ‘together’ part after that.” He saw the confused look and snickered. “Yes, I am insane, I’ve owned to it.”

“Well if you are a nutter, you’re _my_ nutter because that today was incredible,” Sherlock said with a bright smile once more. “It was magical.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Damn, how much have I drank without knowing it?” he joked. “Sherlock, did you just say something was ‘magical’?” he asked and Sherlock blushed clearing his throat.

“No, of course not-“

“You did!” John teased, nudging Greg.

Greg just cringed. “If this is Sherlock full on smitten then I’m slightly afraid. He’s all… nice.”

Sherlock shot him a flat look. “Oh do shut up, Lestrade, your stupidity is making us all look bad,” he snapped and John grinned.

“Nope, still good ol’ Sherlock,” he said, picking up his glass to have a drink. “To mad men and the nutters who love them,” he said to Greg as he held up his glass.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Right, well I’m off! Molly has some hallux specimens for me, I just wanted to come let you know you were fantastic,” he said, giving John a secretive little smile before nodding to Greg. “Lestrade,” he said before dashing off in a whirl of his coat.

John grinned and Lestrade gave him a somewhat alarmed look. “You cannot be serious,” he said and John full on laughed.

“C’mon, Greg, you know as well as I do that he’s a good man when you get down to it. May not be the buxom blonde I used to imagine I’d marry someday, but he’s a good man and I can’t imagine ever giving up the life we have together.” He shrugged. “I’m insane but I’m happy this way,” he joked and Greg chuckled.

“I didn’t even know you liked men, though. You’ve never once looked at another bloke that way, from what I’ve seen,” he said and John chuckled, giving him a shrug.

“I dunno, I’m not really interested in men, I didn’t even realize I was interested in _him_ until he damn well informed me ‘it’s obvious you’re in love with me’ and I realized his nosey arse was _right_ ,” he explained. “It’s all strange, I’ll admit. I didn’t even really even bring up the ‘what is this?’ conversation until after I’d agreed to marry him.”

Greg raised an eyebrow. “What is what?”

John waved a hand. “You know, the nature of our relationship, as Sherlock said it. I wasn’t sure if we were meant to have some strange, platonic partnership of some sort or if it was meant to be a real relationship, but I was willing to take him as he was given, so I’d already agreed to marry him.” He snorted. “Hell, I’ve kissed him twice and held his hand for a few minutes this morning, that’s the extent of our relationship and yet we’re getting married.”

Lestrade laughed. “Well as long as it works for you, mate, I’m happy for you.” He raised his glass. “I wish you boys a lot longer and happier marriage than the one I had,” he said and John snickered and raised his glass in return before taking a drink.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John was finishing writing up their latest case when Sherlock landed on the couch beside him. “No, don’t mention me falling into the Thames!” he argued and John snorted.

“Yes, because I’m going to pass up the chance to point out you aren’t perfect,” he droned, then grinned. “You looked like a drowned rat, it was adorable,” he mumbled as he kept typing.

Sherlock pulled his knees up and pouted- deny it to the grave, that’s what it was- until John finished typing and set the laptop aside. “Alright, what can I do to make it up?” he asked and Sherlock flapped a hand.

“No matter, it isn’t like I don’t do things you don’t like,” he admitted. “Anyhow, I had a proposition,” he continued, turning to face John, legs crossed beneath him. “We should get married in January,” he announced.

John involuntarily flinched- as he always did- and looked away. “Can we _not_ have our anniversary be a constant reminder of that month?” he said softly, jaw tense.

Sherlock gave him a soft look and reached out to pull his hand away from where it was clenched against his thigh. He eased John’s fingers open with his own. “Why not replace it with a good thing? January has a difficult memory attached so why not replace that with a happy memory? We’ll think of January and our first thought will be our marriage, not a dark time.”

John looked up, eyes widening. “Didn’t think of it like that,” he admitted, then looked down at the hand Sherlock was holding in both of his. “You know, it will be difficult to plan a wedding and have people prepare for it on such short notice. It’s nearly December now,” he said and Sherlock shrugged.

“Skip all the boring bits and don’t bother. Like invitations and flowers and such. I’m sure my brother’s let everyone in my family know, you have a limited number of family and friends, just tell them yourself, and voila, no more need for invitations. And flowers, who gives a damn about _flowers_ ,” Sherlock said distastefully. “Fun flowers, the kind that kill people, those are nice, but for decoration? No need.”

John grinned up at him. “The longer I know you, the more I like how often you are against basic social norms. You are the only person ever to say ‘no flowers’ at a wedding.” John sighed and reached up to ruffle Sherlock’s curls. “I’m beginning to stop feeling bad for agreeing with your spiteful opinions, you’re turning me into a Holmes,” he teased.

Sherlock gave him an eager, almost childlike little grin. “That’s sort of the idea, isn’t it?” he asked in a small voice and John couldn’t help the wave of affection that washed over him as he was once again reminded how blind he had been to miss the way Sherlock felt for him.

John curled his hand around Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down into a gentle, sweet kiss. “Tell me something, Sherlock,” he murmured against his lips. “How long have you loved me?”

Sherlock hummed, shrugging absently. “I probably began to fall the moment you said ‘amazing’ rather than an insult, if I’m honest,” he answered and John’s heart clenched, thinking of how many times Sherlock sat by while John dated girl after girl, parading them in front of him. John knew that Sherlock didn’t feel the way some did, he was fine being John’s friend, really truly fine, but it didn’t make John feel any less guilty for never noticing Sherlock’s affections, or his own. “I knew I loved you more than life itself the moment I saw those bombs strapped to you and faltered for the first time in my life,” Sherlock added.

John grinned slyly. “Well, I was right about one thing that night,” he said and Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow. “People definitely talked,” he said and Sherlock smiled in amusement.

Sherlock gave him an excited little hum. “And now they’ll have reason to finally.”

John couldn’t help himself. He tugged Sherlock down again, kissing him firmly, holding him by the sides of his face as he gave whoever the hell wanted it more than enough ammunition to talk.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John was making tea for Mrs. Hudson, who’d stopped by with some post that got mixed in with hers, when Sherlock whirled past them, rushing out. “Oi! Where are you off too?” John asked. “You’re supposed to be looking up wedding venues!”

“Lestrade called! Locked door murders are my favorite!” he said, ducking back in, looking around. “Where’s my scarf?”

John went and grabbed it from the laundry bag he’d come upstairs with and held it behind his back. “Swear to me you’ll find a venue,” he demanded and Sherlock huffed.

“John, I don’t have time for this, you do it-“

“I’m not the one with distant relatives to show off to,” John countered.

Mrs. Hudson looked up. “Wedding venues, is somebody getting married?” she asked and John’s jaw dropped.

John turned to Sherlock with a glare. “You said you had told her!”

Sherlock shrugged. “Didn’t feel like bothering-“

“A WEEK AGO SHERLOCK!” John cried, then sighed. “Fine, here, have your stupid scarf, you’re useless here, go be helpful somewhere,” he said tossing his scarf at him before turning back to busy himself with Mrs. Hudson’s tea.

Sherlock looked at him funny but then sniffed and turned. “Very well then. Don’t wait up!” he called before rushing out.

John just shook his head, coming back to the table with tea for them both. “Sorry you had to see that,” he said and she chuckled, waving a hand.

“Oh, tosh, you two are always bickering about,” she said with a fond smile. “Now who is it that’s getting married? Not your Harry, is it?” she asked, eager for gossip.

John smiled bashfully. “Actually no, Sherlock and I are getting married in January,” he said and she gasped, hand flying to her mouth.

“Oh are you really?! That’s wonderful, dear!” she cried, reaching out to grab his hand. “Aw, I’m so happy for you, you two deserve it after how much you’ve been through. Goodness, isn’t it exciting?!” she asked, tittering. “Oh Mrs. Turner will be thrilled to hear it!” She shook her head. “Sherlock Holmes getting married, who would have ever imagined?”

John chuckled. “God knows I didn’t until I found myself agreeing to it,” he joked and she smiled. “I’m probably mad for it, but I like our life, you know? I honestly am happier with him doing all these stupid things and putting up with ridiculous situations than I think I ever could be married to some teacher or nurse and raising some kids. I would get bored, but with him I never am. So why not?”

Mrs. Hudson sighed, smiling brightly. “You’re good for him, John. He’s smiling and laughing lately. How much more could we hope for from someone so bitter most of his life?”

“Well, not forgetting to tell our landlady about our engagement is one that would be nice,” he joked and Mrs. Hudson laughed. “It’s surprising, I think he must’ve wanted this for a while now, because he’s been very… happy, I guess is what you’d say, since we became engaged,” John admitted. “He _hugged me_ in public totally without any prompting. Sherlock doesn’t hug, that’s not a Sherlock thing to do.” He grinned down at his cup. “Should’ve seen him, I mean obviously he hugged me because I pissed off Mycroft, but even a hug out of spite is a big deal for him, especially in public and I was in the middle of a pub with Greg,” he pointed out.

Mrs. Hudson smiled and sighed. “He’s a good man, John. He’s a bit strange, not completely alright I imagine, but he’s a good one nonetheless. You’ll do well with him, John Watson. I know you and you’re barely any better than him about sitting down and not getting into trouble. You’ll have a happy life with him because you two are just alike. I did worry in the past what Sherlock would do when you finally moved on, found a wife and had kids and couldn’t chase after him anymore, but I imagine you’ll have such a full life chasing after your madman for as long as you like,” she said and John smiled, nodding.

“I think so, too,” John said decisively, sipping his tea in hopes of calming the fluttering in his belly.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Sherlock swept onto the scene in a hurry. “Be quick, Lestrade, I have things to do today,” he muttered as he passed the police officers and went directly to the body, crouching down to look at it.

“This is Jack Ro-“

“Don’t care who he is, just give me facts, I’m busy today,” Sherlock interrupted.

John sighed. “Sherlock, we have until one, it’s only eleven. It won’t take but about thirty minutes to get across to the restaurant,” he placated. “Sorry, Greg, he’s having a manic day-“

“ _John_ do not diagnose me, especially not in public, I am not manic,” Sherlock snapped, walking around to the other side of the body, poking the dead man’s leg. “John, quick, what will do this? I haven’t the time to search it out in my mind,” he said, standing up and abandoning the body. “Quickly, I’ll be here,” he said, going to the skip nearby and unceremoniously flipping over the side into the empty garbage container with a loud ‘thunk’ as he hit bottom.

John chuckled and gave Lestrade a glance for confirmation before going to kneel next to the body, taking in the bruising along the bare leg. “Patellar dislocation, but it was popped back into place. Commonly a sports injury-“

Sherlock came out of the skip and landed with a soft huff. “Footballer. Twenty-six. Has a gambling problem. Try asking his teammates where he did his illegal card games and you’ll find who shot him,” Sherlock said, thrusting a balled up slip of paper into a random person’s hand. “I’d expect it’s the Irish pub nearest his practice field, judging by the ink on the paper.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “You cannot possibly know it’s an Irish pub by the ink-“

Sherlock waved a hand. “I have a meeting with a priest-“

“Pastor,” John interrupted, and Sherlock glowered. “Well he is!” he said, grinning at how nervous Sherlock seemed.

“I have a meeting with a _pastor_ very soon, I will be available later tonight,” he said, twirling around to stalk off. “Come along, John!” he called and John chuckled.

“Sorry about him,” he apologized to Greg.

“What’s got his knickers in a twist?” Sally asked, walking over as she put her phone in her pocket. “He usually pokes around more thoroughly. Is he that uncomfortable around clergy?” she asked and John fought the urge to give her a dark look.

“He’s just antsy, we’re meeting with an old friend who was a chaplain at our post in Afghanistan. He’s just a bit out of sorts,” John defended. “Give him until about three and I’m sure he’ll call you with it solved, Greg,” he said.

Greg smirked. “Bet he loved the idea of a pastor and a friend instead of just a random stranger with a license, huh?”

John groaned. “You wouldn’t imagine how difficult he was to convince-“

“A license for what?” Sally asked. “What do you need a pastor for anyhow if not a case?”

John started to lie but Greg clapped his shoulder with a bright smile. “Their wedding, obviously,” he said and John groaned as soon as he saw the shock cross Donovan’s face.

“You’re _marrying_ the Freak?!” she spluttered, looking torn between a laugh and abject horror. “No way, are you really-“

“Yes, I’m marrying him, fuck off,” John said flatly, all the humor gone from his voice. “Greg, I’ll talk to you later, I need to-“

“JOHN!” 

John chuckled. “Go, is what I was gonna say,” he said, offering a wave before turning to run down the alley to catch up with Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced over and sighed overdramatically. “Donovan overheard, didn’t she?”

John grumbled. “I swear Sherlock, one day I’m going to shoot her. I can get away with it, I’m practically a criminal mastermind who doesn’t act by this point, and even if I wasn’t, you could cover it up for me perfectly,” he muttered and Sherlock grinned.

“You’re going to be a good husband,” Sherlock joked, bumping their shoulders together. “Nothing like planning hypothetical murders and the subsequent cover-ups as a couple,” he teased.

John smirked. “You joke now, but the day comes and you snap and go on a killing spree, I’m the one that’ll have to cover your arse.” He looked up at Sherlock, feeling accomplished at the little smile tilting the corners of Sherlock’s lips.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John looked around as he and Sherlock stood just inside the door, trying to spot the pastor they were meant to meet. Sherlock had just unwound his scarf when a voice called out, startling them both slightly from how close it was. “Well, if it isn’t Captain Watson!” an American accented voice called out.

John turned and then lit up when he spotted a man at the table right by the window. “Craig!” He called out, heading right over, hugging the man when he stood up. “Jesus, you’ve lost weight,” he said, looking at him when they parted. “You never mentioned that bit,” he said with a grin.

“Eh, just a little,” the man said, turning his dark eyes to Sherlock when he sidled up behind John. “And this must be that detective of yours,” he said and John chuckled.

“Sherlock Holmes, this is Craig Wilkes,” he introduced, smiling when they shook hands and Craig gestured that they all sit. 

Sherlock shrugged off his coat and draped it along the back of his chair. “American, I wasn’t expecting that,” he opened with and John nodded.

“Craig was with the Marines at the base we were on. He was part of my patrol group all of the time,” John said. “Craig was right there with me most of the time. Hell of an assistant for a chaplain, not a doctor,” he praised and the man waved a hand dismissively.

“Ah I was just doing my job,” he said, then looked at Sherlock and John side by side and shook his head. “You know, John, I never thought I’d see the day you got _married_ ,” he said and John smiled, glancing up at Sherlock.

“Well, I figured I’d get married someday, but maybe not in this manner. Can’t complain though,” he said and Sherlock gave him an amused look.

Craig laughed. “God knows you had more girls writing you letters from more cities around the globe than anybody else. It’s crazy to think you finally settled on a man,” he said and Sherlock snickered.

“Yes, he always did have an abundance of girlfriends in the past,” he said, looking at John. “First year and a half we lived together, you easily went through a dozen of them.”

John rolled his eyes. “Oi, we agreed no more teasing me on being a horrible boyfriend. Besides, not their fault, you kept me running around all of my free time so I never had any time to set aside for whomever I was dating at the time,” he argued playfully. “Jealousy is one of your most unbecoming traits.”

Craig laughed. “Well he snagged you up after all, didn’t he?” he said. “So, I’m assuming since you called me to talk about getting married and asked me to meet you guys you had something in mind?”

John nodded. “Yes, we do.” He gave him a hopeful look. “I would really love for you to officiate the ceremony, Craig. Now I know it’s short notice, the wedding is going to be in January, but do you think you could?” he asked.

Craig nodded. “I can probably do that. We’ll have to check exact dates but I don’t see why not. Will the wedding be here in London?” he asked and Sherlock shook his head.

“My family home is in Sussex, and as long as I can best ensure my mother will stop being rude to John, we shall marry there,” Sherlock explained. “If nothing else, it will outrage aunts and uncles who disapprove of my marrying a man,” he said and John gave him a sneaky grin.

“Not to mention, it will greatly fluster his brother to see that Sherlock’s the first person of their generation to get married at their ancestral home,” he said and Sherlock sighed.

“Oh I do enjoy things that fluster Mycroft,” he said and John and he shared a smile before turning back to Craig. “You will definitely be given a room for the weekend, should you agree to officiate,” Sherlock assured. “I expect many people will be using the guest rooms actually, so you will be far from an imposition.”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “John never mentioned he was marrying into money,” he teased and John snorted.

“Oh no, don’t let that fool you. His family may be rich but I barely keep our arses in rent and utilities every month,” he said and Sherlock shrugged.

“It was the point of a flat-share originally. Somebody to pay my bills,” Sherlock dismissed. “And Mycroft does pay my share of the bills,” he added.

John snickered. “I know that, I’m teasing you nutter,” he said, nudging his elbow playfully. “Your sense of humor is terribly lacking today,” he commented with a smile.

Sherlock gave him a playful frown, his eyes gleaming to bely his real attitude. “But John, we’re planning our wedding! That is no laughing matter, is it now?”

John snorted. “Cheeky bugger,” he said, sharing a little grin with his fiancé before turning back to speak to Craig again.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John had returned late from work only to be swept up into helping Mrs. Hudson decorate her flat for Christmas before he finally got to go up to his own. When he got there, he saw only a fire going and sighed, realizing Sherlock was gone. He went upstairs to his room to change out of his work clothes and came back down, only to realize when he actually entered the flat that it wasn’t unoccupied after all. “Sherlock?” he called in confusion, walking over to see Sherlock sitting on the couch with his knees to his chest, dressing gown wrapped around his legs while he sat in the total darkness, simply staring into the fireplace. John walked over. “Sherlock?” he tried again, leaning over the back of the couch. “Hey you, what’re you doing?” he asked, only to frown when he noticed how vacant Sherlock’s eyes were. “Sherlock? Are you alright?”

John reached out to touch Sherlock’s arm only to have him jumps lightly. “Oh, John, you’re home,” he said and John frowned, coming around to sit next to him. 

“You alright? You’re never this quiet without a case or an experiment,” John said suspiciously. “What gives?”

Sherlock chuckled dryly. “Nothing,” he said, and John noticed the phone in his hand.

“Let me guess,” he said, sighing. “Your mother?”

Sherlock shook his head. “You are getting better though; Mycroft.” He dropped the phone onto the table next to the couch, sighing as he leaned back. “He’s just so… invasive,” Sherlock groaned. “I know that I may not be the most… normal human being, but neither is he, and yet he still treats me like a child!”

John gave him a sympathetic look. “He’s just looking out for you-“

“He isn’t, though,” Sherlock said weakly. “Not really.” He looked into the fire, chewing on his bottom lip. “John… I know that normally I don’t do the ‘emotions’ thing, God forbid speak about them, but while I deleted much of my childhood, tonight as Mycroft gave me another dressing down for ‘upsetting Mummy’ by allowing you to choose a pastor rather than a priest I was reminded of my father and I honestly had to hang up on Mycroft.” He groaned, pressing the balls of his palms into his eyes. “God, life was so simple when I still had myself convinced I was a sociopath and felt nothing.”

John frowned. “You never speak of your father. He isn’t living anymore, right?” he asked and Sherlock shook his head. “What did Mycroft do to remind you of him? And why has that got you in such a state?” he asked gently. “I’ve never seen you look so worried when it wasn’t about a case you couldn’t solve.”

Sherlock chuckled darkly. “Mycroft shouted, nothing new, but something about his voice triggered a stupid memory and I just heard Father’s voice again.” He looked down at his knees. “My Father was not a pleasant man. I respected him as an elder but I also felt more dislike for that man than even Donovan. He died when I was small and I was honestly glad he was dead,” he said and John gave him a surprised look.

“That’s a bit harsh for a small child,” he said and Sherlock shook his head.

“He terrified me. I was too small, I didn’t suffer much of his anger, but I had my suspicions then and almost certainty now that he hit Mycroft. I blame him a lot of the time for how Mycroft ended up.” He paused and looked into the fire, his skin glowing from the light of the flames and nothing else. “He’d shout. All the time. Roaring screams and insults. Mummy would shout back and I don’t think he ever hit _her_ , but I vaguely remember Mycroft having bruises with no obvious source. Mycroft is so much older that he was already a young teen by the time I can really remember. He was sixteen and I nine when Father died. Mycroft was left as the ‘man’ of the family and he went off to school and changed so much.” Sherlock bit his lip, brow furrowing as though he was in pain. “Mycroft loved me at some point,” he whispered.

John reached out and curled his fingers around Sherlock’s hand, wiggling it free from his dressing gown before sliding their fingers together. “He still does in his own way, Sherlock-“

“Oh bullshit,” Sherlock said in a surprisingly harsh tone. “He cares for how I’ll damage his name. I don’t doubt he has some mild familial affection, but we both know he doesn’t hold me very high on his priority list anymore.” Sherlock deflated, squeezing John’s hand. “I mean to say he loved me unconditionally as a child,” he mumbled. “My earliest memory is Mycroft teaching me how to tie my shoes,” he said softly, voice oddly fond as he gazed into space. “I couldn’t have been but three, I was very small. Mycroft had the patience to sit with me and explain four different methods of shoe-tying and help me perfect them all.” Sherlock swallowed. “When I got it right, he’d look at me like I was the best thing he’d ever seen. I remember Mycroft teaching me everything. He’d show me how to deduce what was for dinner and then get so excited for me when I was right at guessing from the cook’s aprons. He read me stories, he let me climb in bed with him when it stormed, he fixed toys that were broken… everything I did, up until Father died, Mycroft was always there.” John felt his heart drop when he saw Sherlock swallowing hard. “I’d forgotten about all of that,” he whispered. “Thirty years does that, I guess. That or I deleted it at some point, I don’t know.”

John shifted into Sherlock’s side, laying his arm around the back of the couch behind Sherlock’s shoulders. “This is about it being Christmas soon,” he decided and Sherlock gave him a surprised look. John grinned. “Give me some credit,” he said and Sherlock made a pleased sound.

“I knew you were clever,” he said, then nodded, pulling John’s hand onto the tops of his knees to study his fingers absently. “You went to see Harry yesterday. Even though she was grossly intoxicated, you still looked after her for the thousandth time, likely. No matter how bad off she gets, you always give her another chance. You always stay around to look after her. No matter what, you love her. Mrs. Hudson’s sister is coming by tomorrow and she’s excited about it, that’s why she wanted you to help with the decorations tonight, not wait until tomorrow.” He shook his head. “And then I get shouted at because I’m allowing you to pick a pastor for our wedding.” He leaned his head back, looking at John’s hand in his lap. “I generally delete the idea of ‘family’, but I can’t help remember when my brother was family, not a nuisance. I remember making Mycroft proud and loving him,” he whispered, voice wavering. “I know I ended up fucking up my life for a while, but for all my abilities, I can’t work out when Mycroft started seeing me as a burden rather than the same little brother he used to love.”

John flinched as Sherlock swore again. He didn’t swear very often, a clear sign that he really was off. “Mycroft does love you, Sherlock,” he said softly, stroking his thumb along the back of Sherlock’s hand. “I know he is horrible quite often, but you didn’t see how he was that time. I did. He may not respect you like he ought to, but he was devastated,” he said, squeezing his hand. “And he’ll remember it again someday. Hope to God it’s not something serious, but trust me, he’ll remember how much he cares about you and he’ll regret ever treating you like a burden.” John looked him over. “Do you know I didn’t speak to my father a single time in the last five years of his life?” he said and Sherlock shook his head absently. “He was a hard arse. Maybe not like your father, he never hit any of us, but he was very cold and rational. He was set in his ways and we clashed quite often. When I wanted to be a doctor, he said I was nuts and was set and sure that a ‘real man’ worked with his hands. He wanted me to be an engineer or a designer, something where I ‘made things’, not a doctor. When I decided to join the army, we had a massive row, biggest fight ever.” He shook his head. “Didn’t speak to him again.” He nodded. “And I regret that every day because like it or not, he was my father.” He rocked against Sherlock to get his attention again. “Mycroft will regret mistreating you, Sherlock. I know it for a fact.”

Sherlock looked over at John. “Sorry about all this, I just got all emotional over stupid Christmas-“

John cut him off by shaking his head. “I understand.” He reached out and traced his cheekbone gently. “But you know what?” He plucked at a curl. “I am your family, Sherlock. I may only be one making the decision to do so, but I’m marrying you because I want you to be my family forever.” He smiled and nodded. “So, help me decide how we should do it and then tomorrow, you and I can go buy things to decorate the flat and we can do it together.”

Sherlock gave him a surprised smile and nodded. “Thank you.”

John bumped their foreheads together before pecking Sherlock’s lips. “You never have to thank me for loving you.” He closed his eyes and kissed Sherlock slowly. 

“You’re being very… tactile. Why?” Sherlock asked curiously as soon as the kiss broke.

John barked out a laugh. “Because I know you, come morning I know this whole ‘emotional Sherlock’ will have never happened.”

Sherlock hummed, twisting to put his legs across John’s lap, laying his head against John’s shoulder. “Yes, probably. I’ll probably pout and whine about you forcing Christmas on the flat, like I always do. May sulk,” he said and John snickered.

“You wouldn’t be my Sherlock if you didn’t,” he agreed, kissing Sherlock’s curls as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, holding him close. “Just don’t forget the part where I love you and we’re family.”

Sherlock sighed. “I’m sure I’ll try, but I’d never forget that you are the one that I love, John. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved. I lost you once, John. I won’t do it again.”

John closed his eyes and nodded, content to just sit by the fire with the man he loved in his arms. “Good, I don’t want you to.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John had just put a star on the tree when Sherlock came into the living room. “I’m going to ask Lestrade to be my best man, is that strange? It feels strange and I’m not used to caring what is or isn’t abnormal,” Sherlock announced, going to pick up his violin, eyeing the strings critically.

John smiled up at him as he closed up the box to save for when the tree came down. “No, I think that’s a great idea, Sherlock,” he said, looking around at the completed flat. “Well what do you think? Looks nice, doesn’t it? Shame we waited until a week before Christmas, I quite like it.”

Sherlock gave a cursory glance around and sniffed distastefully. “Dull.”

John just smiled ruefully, knowing full well that Sherlock liked it and refused to admit it. “Right, well I’ll go put these away for now. You can tell me about why you chose Greg when I get back,” he said, running to carry the boxes downstairs. When he returned, Sherlock was plucking at the strings as he tuned his violin. “Right, Lestrade as your best man?” he asked, going to sit in his chair, facing Sherlock in his.

Sherlock hummed absently. “Yes, well, I’m marrying the only real friend I have and he’s the closest thing I have otherwise,” he said and John grinned, still unable to withhold a smile every time he was reminded he was marrying his beautiful madman. “Stamford for you, yes?” he asked and John nodded.

“Yeah, I mean, there were other old mates to consider, but for the situation, he felt like the best choice seeing as he did introduce us in the first place,” he said with a chuckle. “God knows what my life would be like if I hadn’t ran into him that day. A chance run in with a Uni mate is all it was, really. A random decision to let him take me for a coffee since I was depressed and he was a familiar face,” John mused. “And look where we are now,” he said.

Sherlock paused. “I never really think about it, but I do admit, my life would be so empty had I never met you,” he said offhandedly. “I’d have been alright, probably. I was in a good place after a misspent youth so I’d have been fine. I just wouldn’t have learned what it was like to care. I would still be convinced I was a sociopath, definitely.”

John flinched slightly, rubbing at his leg absently as he looked into the fire. “I know good and damn well where I’d be if Mike hadn’t introduced us,” he mumbled. “Same place I almost ended up when I thought I’d lost you.”

Sherlock looked up. “I did suspect that when we met,” he said in a tight voice. “I admit, immediately I saw you as an experiment. You had a psychosomatic limp because you missed the action and I thought it might be fun to see how you’d react with my lifestyle. But I could see it. The way you changed so much after just a week living here. You were a different person. You were repaired so much more easily than I could’ve imagined and you became someone else within days. I realized very quickly that the man you had been was a shell of the man you became once excitement was back in your life.”

John nodded with a guilty scowl. “Let’s just say the reason I didn’t turn in my Browning wasn’t exactly self-defense.” He smiled suddenly. “Good thing I didn’t though-“

“I was right, John, I don’t know how many times I have said that in the past-“

“You were possibly right,” John argued, grinning. “You could’ve died right there. You’re lucky I’m a bloody good shot.” The argument about whether or not John saved Sherlock’s life the night he shot Hope was one of their longest running disagreements. Sherlock fully believed he had the safe pill and John denied Sherlock mightn’t have died if he’d taken the pill after all. “Besides, how many times since then have I saved your arse?”

Sherlock lips tilted upwards slightly as he looked at his violin. “A few, I admit.”

John smirked. “And now I can continue to look after you for good.” He shook his head. “God knows how the hell you survived without eating before I made you-“

“My body does not _need_ food-“

“You nearly fainted last week,” John argued. “I’ll have to start bribing you I think. I’ve bullied you into eating for so long now you’re starting to be more resilient.”

Sherlock smirked. “There is nothing I desire with which you could bribe me into eating when I don’t need it,” he said and John sighed, shaking his head as he stood up.

“Guess I’ll have to find what foods you like best and eat them in front of you all the time,” he retorted, heading towards the kitchen.

“Then you’ll just get fat!” Sherlock called after him. “You’re in your forties, your metabolism isn’t what it once was-“

“I’ll smack that smug look off your face, Sherlock Holmes!” John called and Sherlock grinned impishly.

“But you can’t hit me anymore,” Sherlock called. “It’s domestic abuse now-“

“I’m mates with a copper who will say I was legitimately provoked,” John argued, though he was smiling where Sherlock couldn’t see him. Little did he know, that same tiny, affectionate grin was gracing the lips of the madman with the violin just one room over.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John was having a lovely dream about the perfect chocolate cake when his fork jumped from his hand and began to poke him in the ribs. He swatted at it a few times, only to jolt into consciousness when he heard a pained whine of his name in response. John blinked blearily, eyes falling on the clock that read ‘3:00’ in big green letters and rolled over only to sigh hard and whine when he was met by a pair of big, pale gray eyes. “Sherlooooock,” he whined and Sherlock poked him again. “What?!”

“It’s cold,” Sherlock said and only then did John notice Sherlock was wrapped in the duvet off his own bed as he huddled, crouched on the mattress next to John to look down at his face.

John sighed, yawning. “Then turn up the heat-“

“I think the boiler gave out, the radiators are stone cold,” Sherlock said, sniffling pitifully. “It’s really, very cold. Your room is the warmest as statistically heat rises and your room is the highest point in the house-“

John groaned. “For fucks sake, it’s three o’clock in the morning, I have to be up at six-thirty. Just shut up and let me sleep,” he whined.

Sherlock shifted. “Can I stay then- AH!” he yelped as John grabbed his exposed wrist and yanked him until he fell onto his belly next to John. “John- MMPH!”

John covered Sherlock’s mouth and sighed. “Shut up, get in the bed, and sleep. Or at least be quiet. And don’t move. If you wake me up again I may just smother you with your own damn covers,” he said, then took his hand away.

Sherlock nodded, then shifted, chucking his covers to slide in with John, only to make a happy sound. “Oh yes, warmth,” he sighed, wiggling around until John groaned and rolled over, slinging an arm around Sherlock to pin his arms to his sides.

John peeked through one eye. “Stop moving or I’ll shoot you,” he said bluntly and Sherlock rolled his eyes but nodded, going still. John closed his eyes and prayed that Sherlock stayed still and quiet so that he could sleep just a few more hours.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When John woke up, he felt like he was being suffocated for a moment. He panicked just as long as it took to open his eyes and realize he had mouthful of raven curls. He groaned, spitting out Sherlock’s hair only to realize when he tried to raise a hand to push it away that his right arm was pinned. He raised his left and gently pushed Sherlock’s head over towards his shoulder, not the middle of his chest, only to realize the full extent of Sherlock’s sprawl.

Sherlock was asleep- surprising to John- almost on top of John. There was a boney arm under the small of John’s back, another stretched out across the remaining mattress and hanging off the edge, a leg all the way across his thighs so that that legs toes were tucked behind his ankles, and the majority of Sherlock’s weight resting along his right side. John snickered softly. “Figures, you sprawl across the couch enough I should’ve known with you being all arms and legs that you would consider me part of the mattress,” he mumbled, kissing Sherlock’s head simply because he could. He glanced over and saw it was five minutes before his alarm was set to go off anyhow and he sighed, figuring he may as well enjoy the warmth of having a human blanket while he could. It would be bitterly cold out from their cocoon of warmth, John figured.

He reached over and turned off the alarm just before it went off and sighed. “Sherlock? I need to get up, you’ve got to give me my arm back,” he said, ruffling his curls. He wiggled until he was on the edge of the bed then rolled off onto the floor lightly, chuckling when Sherlock fell onto his face with a huff. 

Sherlock whined and tugged the covers up to his neck as he opened his eyes. “John, no,” he pouted. “Come back, you’re warm!”

John smiled, kneeling so he was level with Sherlock’s sleepy eyes. “Trust me, Sherlock, I’d much rather be using a human blanket of warmth than freezing my arse off but I’ve got to go to work.” He kissed his forehead. “Stay here, you’ll stay warm in there for a while. I’ll go check that Mrs. Hudson’s called someone about the heating and maybe it’ll be back up before you need to get up.”

Sherlock pouted. “But it’s warmer with you in here with me. Come back.” He made a grab for John only to hiss and snatch his hand back under the covers.

John felt his heart flutter at how adorable Sherlock looked with his grumpy little pout. “I’ll bring you some tea before I leave,” he promised and Sherlock just huffed and rolled over, turning his back to John in protest. “Git,” he teased, patting his hip through the covers as he stood and went to head down and talk to Mrs. Hudson.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John came up the steps and into the flat only to stop at the sight he found. He bit back a giggle as he looked at Sherlock, who was sprawled in front of the fire with the covers off John’s bed under him. “Are those my pajamas?” he asked and Sherlock looked up from the book he was reading whilst laid out on his middle by the fire.

“They’re made of some extra warm material,” Sherlock said and John snickered.

“They’re about five inches too short,” he pointed out. He walked over and knelt down. “You know, heats back on, you don’t need to lay around in too-small pajamas by the fire anymore.”

Sherlock shrugged, rolling onto his back to stretch, baring a large portion of belly, as he’d gone with the pajama top as well. “But it’s warm like this.” He sighed, blinking sleepily. “Lestrade hasn’t called in four days,” he said and John snickered.

“You look like a lazy tomcat.” He giggled at how much of Sherlock’s arms showed. “You look _ridiculous_ , Sherlock,” he added. “C’mon, put on some clothes and we’ll go get dinner.”

Sherlock waved a hand, rolling back over to read his book. “Not hungry-“

“Not on a case so you’re eating,” John said with finality. 

Sherlock whined dramatically, then perked up. “Oh!” He jumped up and scrambled after John. “If I eat, can I sleep in your bed again? That was warm. I liked it. You’re all soft and small.”

John snorted. “Telling a man he’s short and fat is not the best way to get into his bed, you know.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I meant-“

Sherlock smirked. “Why John, I wasn’t suggesting _that_ ,” he joked and John shot him a glare. “But really, I like you being small. And I said soft, not fat,” he urged. “Please? I’ll even really sleep even though I slept last night and feel totally fine for days. You always say you want me to sleep more-“

“Jesus, alright!” John said, then chuckled at the giddy look on Sherlock’s face. “Your skinny little arse must really get cold at night,” he said and Sherlock huffed.

“It’s not because I’m thin, it’s because my room is lower than yours-“

“Sure, whatever,” John said, playfully poking Sherlock’ exposed belly on his way past to go up and get changed. “Get dressed already.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
After the first few nights, John stopped being surprised to wake up and find Sherlock climbing into his bed. Most nights he didn’t because he didn’t sleep, but John very quickly became comfortable enough with Sherlock’s boney knees and elbows that he barely even shifted in his sleep when Sherlock clambered under the covers and curled around him like an overgrown limpet only a few days after it began.

Sherlock was still asleep in John’s bed when he left to go meet Harry. He and Sherlock were going to Sussex to stay with Mycroft and Elizabeth for Christmas so he was spending the day before Christmas Eve out with Harry. When he met her, she looked well. “Hey Johnny,” she said, hugging him. “How’ve you been?” she asked.

John smiled. “Good, quite well, and you look well,” he said, giving her a meaningful look once he noticed how healthy she looked for once.

She bit her lip and nodded. “Two weeks,” she said and he felt a surge of hope, knowing that the longest she’d gone sober before was about two weeks. “I’m doing alright. I met a girl and she’s really helped me,” she said, linking her arm through John’s as they headed into a shop.

John smiled. “That’s good, Harry. I’m really happy to see you doing better. And just in time for Christmas.” 

She grinned. “So, you never did tell me, what are your Christmas plans that don’t involve your only sister? Got you a girl too?” she asked.

He cringed inwardly. “Actually…” He took a breath and looked at her. “I really have waited too long to talk to you about this but I wasn’t sure how to… tell people. I haven’t had to do that yet. Not really. I mean, sort of with Greg, but mostly because he was suspicious of- oh hell, alright, it’s like this.” He stopped and turned to look at her. “This is probably a bit of a shock, but I’m marrying Sherlock in just under a month,” he said, then gritted his teeth, waiting for her reaction.

She smirked. “Knew you were hitting that,” she said, then turned to continue walking.

John just gaped, then rushed after her. “What?! What the hell? You aren’t… upset? Or at least surprised?!” he asked and she laughed.

“John, come on. When he pulled that shit that time it nearly killed you, I knew you were lovers the way you took it. No way in hell you’d be so broken if it was just a mate-“

“But he was,” John said pointedly. “Harry, we have only been a couple for about a month now.”

She shot him a skeptical look. “And you’re getting married in less than a month? Yeah right-“

“It’s true,” he urged. “He… well it’s so backwards, but basically he said it was logical we get married and when I pointed out we weren’t DATING, he just went ‘well you’re in love with me, what’s the problem?’ and I called him a nutter, but then I had a date with the perfect woman and it was… nothing. I felt nothing. Even if she was hot, I didn’t even really like kissing her when I walked her home and realized that bastard was right. I apologized to her then went home and confessed Sherlock was right. Hell, we were engaged before we’d ever even kissed,” he stressed.

Harry shot him a look. “You’re taking the piss,” she said and he shook his head. “Ha! Oh God, you poor thing, I thought you two have been together for ages now. I’d have pushed your arse out into the light if I’d know that.” She smiled. “So, you agreed to marry him before you were even a couple?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if it was meant to be a real relationship, not just devoted platonic something, but I was willing to take him how I could get him. Thank God he’s gay and doesn’t mind that I’m not and we worked out we both wanted a real, romantic relationship. Well,” he waved a hand. “As romantic as it you could call being married to a man who keeps body parts in the toaster sometimes,” he said and Harry cringed.

“He’ll give you a bouquet of ears for Christmas,” she warned and John laughed.

“Actually, I don’t know what he’ll give me. I’m still not sure what to get him and I have to get something _today_ ,” he added with a heavy sigh. “I should tell him letting him sleep in my bed is his present.”

Harry huffed. “John,” she chastised. “You can’t seriously tell me you two sleep in separate _beds_. You honestly kick him out and make him go sleep in his own room alone?”

John flushed and looked away. “Not that it’s any of your business-“

“Bullshit, I’m your big sister, if anybody should get to critique your treatment of your fiancé it’s me,” she argued. 

John continued on, ears red. “We aren’t… there yet,” he said, cringing at breaching the topic of his sex life with anybody- especially his sister. 

She frowned. “What does that even mean?”

He looked away. “We don’t sleep together. In any sense of the word,” he clarified.

She gave him a disbelieving look. “John, I know I’m your only family but you don’t have to be coy, we’re adults-“

“I’m serious, we don’t. I mean… I’m sure we will, but it’s not been too long, you know?” he said and she hummed.

“Yes, because it’s totally common for two men in their middle-aged years to be about to be married and _not_ shag. That’s really believable,” she said and John chuckled weakly.

“Look, I’d like to stop talking about this, but if you must know, Sherlock and I have only _really_ kissed- not me saying goodnight or something and him barely relenting to stand still long enough- a handful of times. Sherlock isn’t an affectionate man, even if he does seem to really like using me for body heat at night, so it just hasn’t come up. I honestly don’t suspect he’ll ever be one to hold my hand or kiss me just because he can. And like I said, we’ve only slept in the same bed a few times because most nights he doesn’t sleep at all and I get up at six-thirty every day to go to work after running around all hours chasing criminals. It doesn’t matter that we’re getting married soon, Sherlock is Sherlock and as much as I’d love to get laid all the time,” he joked, “I’d never want him to change from who he is because Sherlock Holmes is the man I love and any tiny detail of his life turned around and he’d be someone else.”

Harry just grinned. “You sappy bastard,” she said, then shook her head. “It’s sweet, really. I do hope you are very happy together. And I better damn well be invited to the wedding,” she said with a glare.

John nodded. “Yeah you will be. We just aren’t doing invitations since we don’t have time for everything. We’re going to stay with his mother and brother at their home in Sussex, where we’ll have the wedding, for Christmas.” He made a face. “Trust me, I’m not skipping out on you for Christmas for shits and giggles. I’d love to stay here in London. Mrs. Holmes can fuck off and take her arsehole of an oldest son with her for all I care.”

Harry snorted. “Well now, tell us how you really feel.”

“It’s just true!” John said, then grumbled. “She says my job is _mediocre_. I’m a doctor! A doctor with a ‘heroic’ military history- if you believe most people’s account- and I’m mediocre because I’m not a brain surgeon or something similar. Apparently being a plain ol’ physician is mediocre and she guesses I must have a ‘nice disposition’ to make up for being short and old-“

“Shut up!” Harry said, gaping. “She called you short and old?!”

He shook his head. “May as well have. She called me ‘damaged’ at least. A short, damaged soldier. Her own fucking son is older than I am and spies on people for a living and the soldier who got shot saving injured people in a fucking desert and retired home to be a doctor at a clinic is the damaged one.” He huffed. “Sherlock was very upset with her. He pointed out the fact he got kicked out of Uni because he was a junkie and has never had a job and she just goes on about how her ‘little angel’ was very ‘confused’ and straightened himself out eventually.”

Harry just scoffed. “I bet Sherlock was miffed. The berk loves you, is marrying you, and then his mother dislikes you. Hard for a man to pick sides between his mother and his intended, I bet.”

John smiled a small smile. “No contest, it’s always going to be me, I know it.”

Harry grinned like a fool. “Awww, my little Johnny’s all smitten!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a one-armed hug as the continued on, searching for the perfect gifts together.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John looked over at Sherlock after about thirty minutes into the ride, spent in completely silence, in the back of one of Mycroft’s black cars. “Reckon he has us bugged or full on cameras?” he asked and Sherlock’s nostrils flared slightly.

“Cameras probably. He knows our methods by now. He’d see us signaling rather than speaking with cameras,” he explained.

John smirked and undid his seatbelt. “I have an idea then,” he said and Sherlock looked confused until John slid into the middle and reached up, sliding his fingers into Sherlock’s curls before pulling him down to kiss. Sherlock gave a surprised sound but quickly melted into John’s kiss, turning a little so that he could lay one hand on John’s knee and the other on his cheek. Sherlock captured John’s top lip and nipped at it just so to make John groan and tangle his hand in Sherlock’s hair. “You’re a bad, bad man,” John groaned against Sherlock’s lips when they broke to breathe, earning throaty chuckle.

“You’re just very easy to excite,” Sherlock said, pulling John into a deeper, slower kiss, exploring his fiancé to his heart’s content. They had a long drive and nothing else to occupy their time after all. John slid his hand to undo the top few buttons of Sherlock’s shirt before shifting his lips and nipping at his jaw, then down his throat. Sherlock gasped softly and John hummed, tugging his head to the side so he could get more access to the long, pale slope of Sherlock’s neck. “That’s interesting,” Sherlock breathed, earning an amused grunt against the delicate skin covering his clavicle. He jumped slightly when John bit down lightly, sending jolts down Sherlock’s spine. “Oh!” His small utterance was almost the same as when he connected the dots on a case and made a realization. John felt pleased with himself.

“Mmmmm, yeah ‘oh’,” he teased, sucking at that same spot again, moaning softly when Sherlock’s fingers tangled in his hair and he tugged.

“John,” Sherlock groaned, searching out his lips again, curling his arms around John’s middle to hold him close as he lapped his way into John’s mouth lazily. John just hummed back, letting Sherlock explore his mouth at his own pace.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When Sherlock and John slid out of the car and waited on Mycroft to join then, they could both see the sneer he was barely holding back. Sherlock just smirked. “Enjoy your drive, brother?”

Mycroft sniffled. “Clearly not as much as you enjoyed yours,” he said, eyes flickering from Sherlock’s messy curls and the angry red bruise barely concealed by his shirts collar. John hid his laugh in a cough, sneaking a smirk up at Sherlock.

“It was a rather pleasant journey,” John commented and Sherlock schooled his face into a serious expression as he looked at his fiancé. “Very nice, huh?” John prompted.

“Oh yes, very pleasurable indeed,” Sherlock answered, rolling his eyes when John broke into another ‘coughing fit’. Mycroft simply glared at Sherlock.

“Oh dear, has Doctor Watson caught a cold?” They all looked up to see Elizabeth coming down the steps to greet them. “Maybe it would be best we take our greeting inside,” she said, then looked at Sherlock with a glare only in her eyes. “Seems your journey was quite arduous, judging by the state of your hair, my Angel,” she said and Sherlock smirked openly.

“Something like that,” he said, pointedly sliding his hand into John’s, lacing their fingers together. “Come, _dear_ , let’s get you inside,” he said and John barely held in another round of ‘coughs’ on their way past the matriarch. 

Sherlock and John stopped in the entry and John gaped, looking around in surprise. The house had been massive from the outside, but the interior decor looked like something from a film. Everything was immaculate and looked like expensive antiques. John glanced around in awe. “Blimey,” he muttered to himself.

Sherlock winced immediately, already expecting the words from his mother’s mouth. “Unusual to hear such common utterances in my foyer,” she said as she breezed past, heels clicking on the hard wood floors and going silent as she crossed the large rug in the center of the room. John bit back a grumble as Sherlock led him after her, Mycroft coming behind them. “Sherlock, you’ll be in your old room. Dr. Watson, there is a guest room on the second floor-“

“Hang on, you’re putting us in separate rooms, Mummy?” Sherlock interrupted. “Isn’t that a bit unnecessary-“

“I’m sure Dr. Watson won’t have a problem with his room, it’s a comfortable room after all,” she countered. She shot Sherlock a look. “Besides, you can survive two nights alone, I believe,” she said and John flushed, ears burning as he realized what she was implying.

“Really it’s no trouble, right, Sherlock?” he prompted, glaring at him.

Sherlock huffed. “Fine,” he mumbled, shoving past Mycroft. “John, come and I’ll show you to your room. You’re lucky, you’re not near Mycroft,” he called over his shoulder, leading the way up the stairs. John exchanged looks with Mycroft and Elizabeth then nodded and turned to follow Sherlock. When they got upstairs, Sherlock started down the hall. “My mother is so rude to you.”

John snorted. “No shit.” He caught Sherlock’s elbow and leaned against his shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ll only have to deal with them tonight, tomorrow, and tomorrow night. Next day we’re gone.” 

Sherlock hummed indifferently before leading John to one side of the hall. “Here,” he said, opening the door. “This is the guest room she meant,” he said, opening the heavy wooden door. He flipped the lights on and John whistled, looking at a bedroom nearly the size of the main room of their flat. 

“You know, I thought Mycroft’s home was massive,” he said and Sherlock chuckled.

“This is a rather lovely room, I admit, but it’s so… stuffy and rich,” Sherlock said and John rolled his eyes.

“And your five-hundred pound suits aren’t?” he asked, walking into the room to look around. “Although, I will admit, I can see why you appreciate our home if the whole house is done like the entry and halls. It’s like living in a museum.” He smiled at the absent look on Sherlock’s face. “Come here,” he said, sliding his hands to Sherlock’s waist, pulling him around to look up at him. “We’ll be alright. Whatever she says, I’m pretty sure you’ve said worse-“

“But I never mean the things I say, she does, and it angers me so much,” Sherlock hissed acridly, only to pause.

John chuckled. “Trust me, I know you never mean the cruel things you say to me,” he comforted, sliding his hands along the narrows of Sherlock’s waist. “You love me but it’s in your nature to say cruel things. I’ve long accepted that. I’ve long accepted everything about you, even if I want to chin you sometimes. Have done, actually.”

Sherlock leaned down, resting his forehead against John’s. “But she thinks these things, John. She thinks you’re beneath me and that you don’t deserve me and I hate it because it isn’t true.”

John just smiled. “I know. But so does your brother.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Actually, I’m pretty sure Mycroft, for all his faults, does respect how good you are for keeping me out of trouble.”

“Yes, I actually am aware you look out for him,” Mycroft said from the doorway, interrupting them. “Sorry, but Sherlock, your bags are downstairs. You should lead someone up to your room with them.”

John smirked evilly. “Damn, and we were just about to have a quick shag before dinner,” he teased and Sherlock let out a snort of laughter at the horrified look on Mycroft’s face.

“I’m fully aware you were not, in fact, about to do anything of the sort. Please Sherlock, don’t be difficult, just get your things and we’ll have John’s bags brought up while you do,” Mycroft pleaded.

John grinned. “C’mon, the less we antagonize them the less they’ll bother us,” John tried.

Sherlock sighed dramatically as he turned away. “Oh if only.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
After dinner, which was _dismal_ , John had in mind to get to bed early. He got a shower and was already in bed, just about to turn off the lamp, when there was a knock. He started to get up, only to have the door open. “John?” Sherlock whispered and John slid out of bed. 

“Sherlock? You alright?” John asked, only to shake his head when Sherlock slipped in and shut the door behind him. “Any reason you’re in my room in your pajamas?” he asked and Sherlock gave him a dramatic pout.

“You can’t really expect me to sleep by myself-“

John snickered, rolling his eyes when Sherlock smiled a mischievous little smile. “Your mother will have my balls,” he said, but went back to the bed. “Alright, come on, you dolt,” he said, chuckling softly when Sherlock gracefully walked around to the right side- where he slept in John’s bed at home- and slid under the covers, taking the liberty of getting the light on his own.

John settled on his back and waited- one, two, three- for Sherlock to flop over and drape an arm and leg across his chest. “Mmmmm, better,” Sherlock said, cold nose pressed against John’s neck. “My bed was cold and I’m not really sleepy anyhow.”

John smiled. “I’m not really sleepy but we’ll probably be woken up very early. Best get some rest,” he mumbled, resting his chin against Sherlock’s warm curls. “Don’t see why you didn’t just stay in your room. You could’ve read or pestered Lestrade with middle of the night texts. I like having you here but surely you’ll be bored if you don’t sleep.”

Sherlock made a noise in his throat. “I’d rather be with you and bored than alone and bored,” he admitted.

John felt a warmth in his chest and bit his lip. “Alright,” he said simply, curling his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, settling down to go to sleep. 

“Oh John, remind me to sweep the room for cameras in the morning,” Sherlock said, voice muffled by John’s neck.

John flushed but then snickered. “Well, seeing as I changed in here, not the bathroom, Mycroft probably got an eyeful. If ever he wanted to see a middle aged man naked…” he trailed off and Sherlock huffed.

“Probably liked it. That bastard,” he growled then sighed. “Face it, John. You’re bloody handsome. Damn it.”

John snickered. “So wait, you’re annoyed at me being alright looking?”

“No, I’m annoyed you’re handsome, if you were just alright looking people wouldn’t flirt with you all the time.” Sherlock curled his arm around John’s waist. “You’re _my_ fiancé and people flirt with you all the time. If you were ugly they’d leave you alone.”

John just smiled, kissing Sherlock’s hair. “To be fair, you’re ridiculously attractive as well. I could say the same about you. Bloody cheekbones and long legs,” he murmured. “Nice arse too,” he said, grinning as he shifted his hand and smacked Sherlock’s behind teasingly before holding him again.

Sherlock just hummed. “I’ll file the knowledge of what traits you like best about me away for later,” he said. John could feel Sherlock’s eyelashes brushing his throat as he blinked. “But you know you are the only one for me. Only one ever to have any meaning. You’re normal, though. There are very real chances I am not the only person for you out there in the world.”

John closed his eyes and smiled, nestling his cheek against Sherlock’s curls. “You know you are, Sherlock. You’re the only one bloody mad enough for me. You made me alive again and I’ve never looked back.” He stroked his thumb along Sherlock’s wrist. “Try and get a little sleep, okay?”

Sherlock just lay still and silent, poring over John’s words for hours and hours from his spot nestled into John’s arms.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John and Sherlock had barely settled down at the table for breakfast Christmas morning when Elizabeth spoke up. “Stanley tells me you weren’t in your room when he went to wake you, Sherlock. What happened? Insomnia again?”

Sherlock tutted. “Mummy, it isn’t insomnia, I just don’t require sleep every night. And if you must know, yes, I was bored.”

Elizabeth hummed. “Is that why Martha found you texting someone from Dr. Watson’s bed?” she clarified and Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

“Dull. I do think sending your servants after me and getting all snappish at them finding me in my _fiancés_ room is entirely beneath you.” He shot a look down at Mycroft. “You’re not Mycroft, after all.”

She just looked down. “I just thought we all agreed it would be better for everyone-“

John spoke up. “Look, I’m sorry Sherlock didn’t follow your rules, but I couldn’t exactly kick him out now can I?” he challenged. “I’d be a crap fiancé to send the man I’m marrying soon off to be cold and alone when he just wanted to stay with me. So can we all just lay off of Sherlock and remember he’s a grown man for a moment?”

Sherlock gave him the same pleased little grin he did every time John made a smart remark to anybody. John loved knowing he amused Sherlock in tiny ways. Elizabeth just made an offended little sound and looked away, refusing to acknowledge anyone but Mycroft for the rest of the meal. After they finished, Mycroft stood. “Now, I’m not sure if Sherlock has informed you, John, but it is rather customary for us to exchange our gifts after breakfast.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, I did forget that bit, I’ll be back, I need to go collect some things,” he said, heading upstairs. “Don’t bother, John, I’ll bring yours too.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John was sitting near the fireplace in what had to be the most expensively-furnished room he’d ever been in- possibly even including Buckingham Palace- while Mycroft brought gifts out from behind a large, beautiful Christmas tree and Sherlock heckled him amusingly. Elizabeth had given Mycroft a pair of cufflinks and Sherlock a pair of Italian leather shoes that John figured cost more than his entire wardrobe back home. He certainly understood where Sherlock’s expensive clothing tastes came from. Mycroft in turn had given his mother an antique silver mirror and Sherlock a watch.

John hadn’t seen Sherlock do any shopping in his life, so he was surprised when Sherlock gave his mother a beautiful pair of earrings and his brother- amusingly enough- a giant box full of biscuits. The unamused look on Mycroft’s face was one that John surely wouldn’t forget any time soon. Sherlock’s near-giddy laughter was another. He looked like a proper child on Christmas morning sat on the floor giggling at his older brother. The surprised look that John only noticed on Elizabeth’s face from experience in reading Holmesian expressions suggested not many had ever seen Sherlock smile and laugh so brightly.

“Right,” Sherlock said, turning to John, smiling warmly. “Hand it over,” he said and John rolled his eyes but grinned as he handed Sherlock a box. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, turning the box over and over in his hands. It was a game with them every year: see if John could stump Sherlock. “Heavy but not too heavy. The box is quite large but I can’t trust that,” he mumbled. “Padded so I can’t tell from shifting weight.” He looked up at John for a long moment and then his eyes widened and he smirked triumphantly. “Ah!”

John sighed dramatically and playfully rolled his eyes. “Oh God no, you guessed it,” he droned flatly, then nudged Sherlock’s knee with his toes. “Go on and open it, you berk.”

Sherlock shifted and opened the box, making a pleased sound when he took out a rather thick book. “Oh, the DSM, this is excellent,” he said and John smiled brightly, relieved Sherlock liked his gift. “Thank you,” he said, looking genuine as he said so. It was rare Sherlock showed honest gratitude.

“Well, you already have the ICD, so I figured you’d find the American one interesting,” he said simply, shrugging it off.

Sherlock stood on his knees and shuffled closer to John, who ignored the somewhat disgusted looks the other occupants had to Sherlock crawling around on the floor, and knelt in front of him. “John,” he started, reaching into his coat pocket, coming back with a small metal box of some sort. “My grandmother left something to me when she died that I never thought I would give to another.” John heard the others in the room freeze instantly, ceasing all motion, and raised an eyebrow of suspicion.

“Go on,” he prompted, watching Sherlock closely.

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes so intensely that John could barely move. “I love you more than anything and we’re getting married quite soon,” Sherlock said, then placed the little tin in John’s hand. “Open it,” he instructed. 

John opened the ornate tin and tensed as he found a plain, clearly well worn, but well cared for golden band. “Oh.” He picked it up from its container and squinted to read the inscription etched on the inside in the dimness of the room. He tilted it towards the fire and felt his heart skip a beat.

_Forever Yours, Forever Mine_

Sherlock touched John’s hand, catching his attention. “I want you to have this. I want to place this ring on your hand when we marry. I regret to say its mate is too small for my hand, but it has the same inscription. Mine was given to my grandmother by my grandfather and yours was given by her to him. They lived a long, happy life together. I am not usually one for sentiment and I place no meaning on ‘good fortune’, but I am hopeful that we share a similar ending and if that happens this would be very appropriate,” he said, shrugging. “I can keep the small band safe at home and get a plain new band to wear on my finger,” he suggested.

John swallowed hard, honestly fighting a lump in his throat as he replaced the ring and closed the box. He knew how much Sherlock had loved his grandmother. She was the only relative he ever mentioned with a smile. John understood how- for a man who wasn’t very sentimental- this was one of the most sentimental things he could’ve ever done. “Sherlock,” he whispered, then looked up and met his eyes. “I love you, you ridiculous, perfect man,” he laughed, leaning down to kiss Sherlock quickly, not giving a _damn_ what Elizabeth or Mycroft had to say about it. “Of course we can marry this way,” he answered, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck loosely as he sat, forehead to forehead, with his beloved fiancé. “You beautiful, brilliant, utterly _mad_ man. This is the most beautiful thing you could have done. How on earth did you come up with it?” he teased, earning a small shrug.

“It just felt right,” Sherlock said simply. “Statistically, neither of us will live long enough to enjoy a marriage as long as theirs, but I do wish to be with you for a very long time and I felt the example would prove conducive-“

“Oh shut up and kiss me,” John laughed before leaning in to kiss Sherlock firmly, clinging to him tightly as they kissed.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
After lunch, Sherlock showed John around outside, the both of them walking past the decorative gardens out back and on to the orchard beyond. When they got to the other end, John raised an eyebrow to see a barn with more than a dozen stable stalls full of horses. “So hang on, your mother has _horses_?”

Sherlock scoffed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t she?”

John smirked. “Did you take equestrian lessons then?” he asked and Sherlock looked away refusing to answer. “Oh my goodness, Sherlock Holmes, you ride a horse!” John said, then barked out a laugh. He stopped and groaned with a grin. “Damn, I bet you look like a damn romance novel cover riding a horse, don’t you? Stupid, good-looking bugger.”

Sherlock gave John an amused glance. “Last time I rode a horse I was sixteen, completely gangly, had short, frizzy hair, and hadn’t yet grown into my ears, I doubt I looked anything like the cover of a romance novel.”

John smirked. “You’re still gangly. All arms and legs, you are,” he said. He shrugged. “Although I can’t say much, I’m the opposite.”

Sherlock grinned. “You are very small,” he said. “Good thing, though. You can hide better. You get the jump on so many criminals because they don’t see you tucked behind a bin.”

John smirked. “Doesn’t hurt they underestimate how strong and quick I am. Same with the Army. Same with Rugby.” He nodded. “Always underestimate the small bloke.”

Sherlock hummed. “I learned that one quick. Asked you to punch me once, remember?” He chuckled. “Nearly knocked me out.”

John groaned. “That woman was right, though, wasn’t she? I didn’t even think about it but I avoided your nose and mouth so you wouldn’t be permanently scarred.” He huffed. “Damn pretty face couldn’t be damaged.”

Sherlock smirked. “You were so jealous,” he teased and John flipped him off as he walked off ahead, passing the barn to go lean on the fence around the pasture attached to it. “You were!” Sherlock shouted, following him.

“Fuck off, Sherlock,” he groaned.

Sherlock came up next to him and leaned against the fence. “Never. I knew then that one day, if I waited, you would come around and notice.” He shrugged. “In the end I got impatient.”

John shook his head. “Do you know I don’t know if I’d have ever noticed. I’m sure one day, a really long time away. Probably after I’d gotten married. Had kids. Too late to do anything about it,” he acknowledged.

Sherlock bumped their shoulders. “And instead, you’re going to marry me.” He cringed. “No children though.”

John barked out a laugh. “Yeah, no, I don’t expect us to ever raise children, Sherlock. No worries there.” He leaned his head over against Sherlock’s shoulder for a moment. “Besides, I’ve got the words only consulting toddler, what would I need kids for?” he teased and Sherlock groaned.

“I _hate_ when you call me that, I’m not a toddler-“

John gave a longsuffering sigh. “You pout and sulk when you don’t get your way, you throw things, you whine, you have tantrums, and you are petty.” He nudged him. “Face it, I’m marrying a three year old.”

Sherlock sniffed and straightened his jacket. “You’re lucky I love you,” he grumbled and John grinned up at him.

“Bullshit, you think my teasing is cute,” he said, catching his hand. “You always smile when I tease you.”

Sherlock looked away. “I have no idea what you mean.”

John just smirked. “Sure you don’t.” He tugged Sherlock. “C’mon. It’s about time we get back.” He slid his fingers into Sherlock’s, missing the look of mind surprise but intense happiness across Sherlock’s face when he looked down at their hands, holding tight as they walked back towards the house hand in hand.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
That evening after dinner- an event during which Elizabeth brought up a few details of the wedding and still managed to make subtly insulting remarks about John while doing so- John cornered Elizabeth in the hallway. Sherlock and Mycroft had gone off to do something and John stopped her in the empty hall. “Look, I’ve really had enough with your remarks,” he started. “I get it-“

“Obviously you don’t,” she interrupted. “Fine, if you want it plainly, it’s like this,” she said, dropping any air of subtlety. “The man you are so intent on marrying is my youngest child, my baby. I know he’s a very special person better than anybody else. I also know he’s a nightmare to deal with for those who don’t understand him the way I can. He’s my son, I know him well enough to predict his mood swings and his attitudes. Mycroft can as well, which is the only reason I haven’t had Sherlock brought home and kept here.” She shook her head, a serious look in her eyes. “Whatever the hell you’re playing at, I want it to stop. It isn’t funny. I don’t know if you want his money or his name, I don’t know if you want to be married into an established family, I don’t know anything about your goals in this marriage, or what your motivations for sticking around for this long may have been, but I want it to stop _now_ before it’s too late and this all ends in a messy, ugly, public spectacle.”

John squared his shoulders, jaw clenched. “Mrs. Holmes, my only ‘motivation’ is that I love him. My only ‘goal’ is to spend the rest of my life with that man.” He her in the eyes, completely unflinching under her vicious gaze. “I don’t give a damn about the money I know he doesn’t have anyhow- Mycroft pays his part of our bills out of a fund set aside that Sherlock cannot touch with his history of drug addiction- because I’m a simple man of simple means. I don’t even know if I’m taking his last name so I don’t see how that plays in.” He laughed harshly. “I sure as hell don’t want any damn part of your ‘family’, Mrs. Holmes, because you and Mycroft are the only example I’ve been given and I’d rather never speak to either of you ever again after the wedding, but I know that isn’t happening,” he said honestly. “I know all about Sherlock’s mood swings, I’m a bloody master of dealing with his moods, you can’t even _imagine_ how much I have learned dealing with his moods! And yes, he is a nightmare to deal with quite often, but I’d rather spend the rest of my life dealing with his nightmarish qualities than give up all of the amazing things that outweigh them,” he spilled out in a rush. 

“I was alone, I was empty, I was a defective soldier invalided home with a psychosomatic limp and a laundry list of post-traumatic stress problems. A one in a million chance led to me being introduced to Sherlock and within twenty-four hours he had fixed my limp, he’d put excitement into my life, he’d given me a _reason_ to live when I was pretty much counting the days until I finally gave up hope and actually pulled the trigger one of the times I contemplated it.” He saw the shocked look on her pallid face. “And I got to know all of his terrible traits, I got to know everything bad, I suffered him faking his own death in front of me and living more than a year just as empty as I had once been because he was gone and I didn’t have anything else.” He bit his lip, eyes stinging with tears. “But he came back. He came back home- to _our_ home- because that’s what it is. Our home. Our life. Our struggles and our triumphs. Not his and mine. _Ours_.” He swallowed. “I didn’t know I loved him until quite recently, considering, but as soon as I realized it, I understood everything. Every motivation to do what outlandish things he asked of me, every moment of fear when he showed up banged up after some altercation, every second of utter devastation I suffered while he was gone. All of it was because I love him more than I knew I could ever love anything or anybody.” He shook his head. “And I’m going to keep on loving him. I’m going to marry him. I don’t know why nobody else gives him a chance but I’m damn glad they did because he’s _mine_ and I’m going to keep him as long as possible.” He gave her a fierce glare. “And nothing you say or try to do will stop us marrying. He loves you, you’re his mother, but don’t put it down to a ‘you or me’ choice because I know how Sherlock will pick and it would ruin you both.”

Elizabeth just stared in shock before coughing slightly. “I had… no idea you were so- so opinionated-“

“Oh Jesus, just stop with the propriety and speak your mind!” he urged and she gave him a disapproving look.

“I did not allow the idea that you were honest and genuinely loved him to enter my mind,” she said plainly. “I didn’t think it was possible. Nobody has ever given him a chance besides Mycroft and me. Why should I have expected that to change?” she asked. “Sherlock is strange, I know this. I had no idea you had such real commitment to someone that everybody else has given up on. Why should one person open their heart and mind to someone everybody else rejected?”

John snorted. “Yeah well, get in line. I’ll never understand why people count him out. Sure, he’s a nutter, a full blown nutter, but he’s brilliant and deep down he’s a good man.”

Elizabeth gave him a sad smile. “People fear what they don’t understand.”

John shrugged. “I’ve accepted long ago that I will never understand everything. Hell, I invaded Afghanistan and still have no idea why, so clearly that says a little bit about me.” Elizabeth gave a surprised laugh and John chanced a smile.

She sighed but nodded. “I guess I can see what Sherlock sees in you after understanding you better,” she admitted begrudgingly. 

John shook his head. “I don’t. I never will. I have no idea what Sherlock ever saw in me. I don’t know what made him decide he could fix me that first day we met, but he did and never looked back. So neither have I.”

She hummed, eyeing him appraisingly. “You’re very loyal. Almost loyal to a fault,” she pointed out.

John chuckled. “I’ve got that one many times before,” he admitted. “But it’s quite simple: I know that if there’s anything in this world I can count on, anything at all, it’s my best friend.” He paused, a fond look crossing his visage. “I can always count on my best friend to be arrogant, selfish, totally mad, absolutely brilliant, and _good_. I’ll never get bored. If we lived to be in our nineties, I’ll still be amazed every single day at that beautiful, brilliant, madman,” he whispered more to himself than her. “And quite frankly, I can’t imagine anything making him stop loving me because trust me, I’m definitely not the only person he’s had a chance with over the years but he picked me anyhow.”

Elizabeth looked at him so intently he felt she was seeing into him. “I honestly cannot understand what either of you sees in the other. You come from different worlds, you have different careers, different backgrounds, different tastes, different lifestyles- hell you aren’t even interested in men from what I can tell- and yet somehow you work. How?”

John shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just grateful it does.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Sherlock huffed, throwing himself dramatically onto the couch. “But _John_ I don’t like them-“

“They’re your friends,” John argued and Sherlock whined.

“They’re _dull_. Why can’t we just spend New Year’s Eve alone?” Sherlock sat up. “We haven’t had sex, we can do that instead!”

John snorted. “You’re just trying to get out of being social.” John came over and leaned over the arm, looking down at Sherlock’s pouty face. “We’re having friends over for drinks, I’m making little snacks that you _will_ have to eat at least three of, you will smile and pretend to at least somewhat tolerate our friends, and you will pretend to like the evening.” He smirked. “Although, I’m definitely not saying no to your suggestion at a later date,” he said, winking before he stood to head back to the kitchen once more.

Sherlock huffed and rolled onto his side. “You’re supposed to be all ‘yay, sex!’ and say hang the visitors.”

John chuckled. “Sherlock, as much as you seem to think I’m some massive whore, I’m in my forties, not my twenties. The slight chance of getting laid isn’t going to distract me from having drinks with our friends,” he said as he went back to putting frosting on his mini-cupcakes. John didn’t hear Sherlock coming up behind him until Sherlock’s arms slid around his middle, startling him. “Sherlock! You made me drop chocolate-“

“It wasn’t a slight chance, it was a sure bet,” Sherlock murmured, pressing his lips to the side of John’s neck.

John made an embarrassing sound when Sherlock’s hair tickled his ear and turned away. “Sherlock! Stop! I’m working here,” he said, rolling his eyes when Sherlock pulled him back against his front, pouting at him from over his shoulder. “Don’t do that,” he said, and Sherlock let his chin rest on John’s shoulder, bending his knees a bit to reach. “I’m busy, you silly git.”

Sherlock chuckled. “What on earth are you doing? Did you _bake_?” he asked skeptically.

John nodded. “I bake. I’ve kept your skinny arse alive for a while now, I can cook.” He dipped his finger in the chocolate frosting and poked Sherlock’s bottom lip, snickering when Sherlock made a face but licked his lip. “Good, huh?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Not a big fan of frosting. It’s always sweet. Dark chocolate is best.”

John grinned. “Then you’ll love what’s in the refrigerator. Dark chocolate grapes,” he said and Sherlock perked up. “Don’t you dare, not until tonight,” he said, giving him a warning look. “I’ve got my eyes on you, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock shuffled past John, looking at other things on the counter. “What’s this?” he asked, poking at a tray of some small things in little cups. “Why are they bleeding?”

John snorted. “Mini cherry pies. That’s the cherry, not _blood_ you ninny,” he laughed. “Like I’m serving _blood_.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It would amuse Molly at least.” He poked at another tray. “Is this toast?”

John looked up. “Grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches cut into quarters. There’s little sweet potato pies in the oven, and in the freezer some lemon sorbet tarts are setting.”

Sherlock stared. “You have been doing all that? I didn’t even notice you were in here,” he said with a hint of surprise and John laughed.

“You do that. You zone out and think for hours. It’s a wonder you know anything at all when you do that.” John nudged him with his elbow. “Hey, bring me that cloth box,” he said, pointing at the counter down near Sherlock. “It’s got sprinkles in it.”

Sherlock brought him the box then watched curiously as John took out white and blue sprinkles. “Which do you like best?”

Sherlock shot him a look. “Does it matter?”

John snickered. “Obviously sprinkle color is beneath your superior intellect.” He handed the blue shaker to Sherlock. “Here, matches your dressing gown. Start sprinkling,” he instructed, shifting over so that Sherlock had access to the tray of cupcakes.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked, looking confused and John laughed.

“Didn’t you ever make cupcakes as a ki-“ He stopped and sighed in realization. “No, doubt you did, did you?” He shook his head. “Look,” he said, looking up at Sherlock. “Just watch me and do the same thing to those cupcakes, then we’ll swap them around and do it to each other’s so that they’re all both blue and white, alright?” Sherlock nodded, still looking confused, until John began pouring some sprinkles in his hand and pinching them to drop a few on each one of the cupcakes. “See? Like this.”

Sherlock did the same with his, counting out exactly four sprinkles per cupcake before giving John a triumphant smile. “There, that work?” he asked, looking all too proud of himself for putting _sprinkles_ on _cupcakes_.

John couldn’t help the fond look that came over his face. “Yeah, that works just great,” he said softly, spinning the tray around so that he could put white sprinkles on the ones that were already blue and Sherlock could put blue on the ones that were already white.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John returned to his seat beside Sherlock, handing him a plate. “Alright, here’s the deal. Eat at least three things on this plate and you can have dark chocolate grapes,” he said and Sherlock gave him a wide-eyed look. “None of that, eat it,” he urged.

“It’ll do you good, Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson said, waving a hand at him. “You need some fattening up. You’re far too thin.”

John nodded. “I try my best but he just won’t eat unless it comes down to threats,” he said, then grinned. “Only reason this bribe works is he likes dark chocolate, apparently. I don’t generally encourage eating a lot of chocolate, but it’s food and Sherlock’s hard to feed.”

Sherlock sighed. “I eat enough. I don’t need food like you do-“

“You nearly faint every other week, Sherlock,” John argued. “Now, eat at least three of these,” he said and Sherlock huffed but picked up the cheese and tomato sandwich quarter and took a bite.

“Did you cook all this?” Molly asked, sitting down with her latest boyfriend. “It all looks quite yummy.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, well-“ He touched Sherlock’s arm. “Sherlock helped me with the cupcakes.” Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Lestrade and Sarah both stop and put down the cupcakes they had been eating. “No, you’re safe,’ he said, snickering. “He just put on sprinkles.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Like I’d poison your food, honestly, I know John. I knew he’d make me eat it.” John gave him a pointed look and Sherlock huffed and shoved the rest of the sandwich bite into his mouth. 

John nodded. “Good boy.”

Sherlock glared. “I am not a dog!”

“Oh don’t I know it,” John said, smirking. “Dog’s actually listen every once in a while,” he teased.

Sherlock huffed. “Remind me why I’m marrying you?”

“Oh, that’s right!” Molly said, giggling. “Greg told me you two were getting married. I’m so happy for you! I always did think Sherlock fancied you, John,” she said, winking at him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Molly, I do recommend no more wine after that glass- ow!” he groaned when John elbowed him.

“Don’t be an arse,” John mumbled, then smiled. “Thank you, Molly.”

Sherlock shoved his plate at John. “There, ate three things, can I have the grapes now?” he asked flatly. John sighed at the nibbled on food, but nodded. “Finally!” Sherlock groaned, jumping up to go find some grapes.

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “Don’t worry, dear, he’s like a child, but only sometimes,” she said and John laughed openly.

“Don’t I know it, Mrs. Hudson.” He shook his head. “Don’t I know it.”

John was speaking to Molly when Mrs. Hudson called out. “Ooh, it’s almost midnight!” John glanced up for a second before returning to his conversation, only stopping when the countdown started. He and Molly raised their classes to count along, both a bit lightheaded from the wine. John was caught off guard, however, when- just at the stroke of midnight- Sherlock caught his waist and pulled him around into a kiss. John squeaked, then relaxed, letting his empty glass hang limply in his fingers as he slid his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders, sinking into the kiss.

When they broke for breath, Sherlock rested his forehead against John’s, a smile gracing his lips. “Happy New Year.”

John smiled right back. “I’d say so,” he whispered.

They were interrupted, however, by a groan. “Oh lord, I didn’t need to see that.” John laughed at Lestrade’s words, turning to look over, snickering when Sarah smacked him.

“Hey, they’re _cute_!” she argued, earning a look that clearly said ‘you’re delusional’ from the detective.

Sherlock hummed, pressing his lips to John’s ear. “Alright, I like it when your friends hit Lestrade,” he admitted and John snorted.

“You like anybody that hits Lestrade,” he countered, leaning up to kiss him once more.

Sherlock hummed. “True.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Sherlock came into John’s room and crawled into bed, watching as he finished changing for bed. “My mother has made arrangements for a _real_ wedding, had last minute decorations and flowers ordered, had a _custom_ wedding cake planned, and has hired extra help to have her own kitchen staff give us a wedding feast rather than whatever minimal fuss she had planned already, as well as hired out extra cars to bring our guests from London rather than make them go their own way.” He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell did you do?” he demanded and John turned to him, raising an eyebrow as he took off his robe and came to bed in his sweat pants and tee-shirt.

“What did _I_ do? She’s your mother-“

“Who hates you. Or at least she did, I don’t think she’d go this far out of her way to make our wedding a real wedding if she didn’t,” Sherlock argued. “How did I miss something happening to change that?”

John climbed into bed with a smirk, turning off the lamp before sliding down, allowing Sherlock to curl into his side. “You mean you don’t know? You didn’t work it out on your own when we were there for Christmas?”

Sherlock looked shocked. “I missed something?” he asked in a small voice. He looked John over and frowned. “Damn, it’s been too long to work it out. I’m assuming you confronted her, she’d have never confronted you, and said something to convince her that you deserved me. Can’t say what, though. Emotions aren’t my area,” Sherlock admitted begrudgingly.

John smiled and kissed his forehead. “She thought I was after your money or your name or something. She hadn’t even allowed for the idea I genuinely loved you.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Of course not. She wouldn’t love me either if I wasn’t her own child. Surprised sometimes that’s enough. She knows I’m a ‘headache’, as she puts it.”

John nodded. “And I explained to her that I know you’re a nutter, I know you’re irrational, childish, arrogant, selfish, and plenty of other choice descriptions. I explained that I’d honestly considered shooting you before,” he said and Sherlock gave him an offended look. “Oh shove it, you know I have. But I also explained that for all of that, you are more amazing in so many other ways than any of that and I love you, even when you’re being a self-centered toddler in a man’s body. Because you’re _my_ mad genius and I want you to always be that. I want to marry you and take care of you and let you keep amazing me until we’re old men. I think explaining how much you’ve changed my life made her see that you are all I want.” He curled his arms around Sherlock and smiled as he looked into his eyes. “Just you.”

Sherlock blinked owlishly, only to suddenly smirk. “I bet even her callousness wasn’t enough to keep her hating you after that.”

John chuckled. “God knows I hoped it had done good because I made a right idiot out of myself. Nearly cried,” he admitted softly. 

Sherlock yawned and tucked his head under John’s chin. “She had a change of heart, from what I see. Mission accomplished.”

John just chuckled. “Two Holmes down, one to go. Think I can convince Mycroft to like me, too?”

Sherlock huffed. “Never. Mycroft is too pompous to like anybody. I doubt ‘like’ is even part of his emotional range,” he retorted. John just gave a tired laugh as his eyelids drooped.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John huffed as he grabbed the garment bag containing Sherlock’s tux. “Sherlock! You forgot your bloody suit! I swear to God, if I’d known it would take you four days for one case I’d have never let you take it,” he called out to Sherlock, who was pacing in front of a wall of crime scene photos. John dumped the garment bag on top of the pile of luggage waiting near the stairs and nodded. “There. Right. We’ve got exactly thirty minutes before we have to leave.”

“Not enough time, I need at least two hours,” Sherlock started and John glared. 

“If you aren’t done in thirty minutes I’ll drag you downstairs myself,” he threatened. “I’m _not_ missing my own damn wedding because my fiancé is stuck trying to solve a bloody murder.”

Sherlock flapped a hand at him. “Yes, yes, whatever, go away, I’m trying to think and your face is ruining it,” he said and John crossed his arms, giving him a dark look. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It’s a compliment, I’m more distracted by your face than _crime scene photos_.” John smiled a pleased little smile. “NOW PISS OFF!” Sherlock shouted, walking over to shut the door in John’s face.

Mrs. Hudson, who was leaving same time as them, looked up. “Little domestic?” she asked, giving him a nervous look. “Don’t worry, everybody gets stressed before the wedding-“

John sighed and leaned on the railing. “Oh I wish. Worse, he’s stuck on a case and is threatening to not leave if he hasn’t solved it by the time the car gets here.” He rolled his eyes. “Kicked me out because apparently I’m distracting.”

She tittered and nodded. “I’d imagine so. You’re going to be his husband this time tomorrow. Probably can’t think of anything but you, my dear.” 

John suppressed a little smile and nodded. “Shouldn’t have let him take this case. Lestrade should’ve known better as well. Some best man he is, huh?”

Mrs. Hudson just smiled. “I’m so excited to see Sherlock in a lovely wedding outfit. You, I’ve seen in a tie before, but never Sherlock.”

John chuckled, coming down to sit on the steps near where she was standing. “It was a hell of a time getting him to agree. I tried bribes and eventually had to settle on threats of bodily harm. He tried to argue that I can’t hit him since he’s going to be my husband but I’m pretty sure anybody charged with calling it ‘domestic abuse’ would side with me on the matter.”

“JOHN!” Sherlock came out. “I need to talk to the wife-“

John stood up. “Oh no you don’t, get your arse back in there, comb your hair, put on your nice shoes and good jacket and get ready to go see your mum-“

“But _John_ -“ Sherlock whined.

“NO!” John argued. “We’re leaving in just a little while and that’s that.”

Sherlock huffed but stood tall. “Fine, I’ll just phone her on the way there,” he said, turning on his heel to head inside. 

John just groaned. “Great, now I get to listen to Sherlock harass a poor widow the whole drive to Sussex. Nice, that.”

Mrs. Hudson just shook her head. “You boys. Never a dull moment with you two around.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John walked into the large library where he and Sherlock would be getting married the following afternoon and bit back a giant smile as he looked at the chairs set up around a central aisle. The ‘altar’ where they would be wed was simply a small, temporary dais that had been erected in front of the floor to ceiling window of the furthest end of the library. He could see the chairs, desk, and table that had been in the library piled up on the narrow walks surrounding the upper shelves of the two-story library. There was just enough room for the fifty seats on the floor level. John walked over and sat down on a chair around the middle of the group, looking up and trying to imagine Sherlock and himself standing there in front of Craig, swearing themselves to holy matrimony for all to see. He chuckled and shook his head at the thought.

“Not having second thoughts are we, John?” John jumped and looked around, eyes landing on Mycroft in the corner. He held up a book and walked over. “Sorry, but you seemed to not notice me when you entered. Understandable really,” he allowed.

John sighed. “Nearly gave me a heart attack.” He stood up and shook his head. “Not at all. Just… trying to picture tomorrow.”

Mycroft hummed. “You will be happy,” he said and John turned in surprise. “I’ve watched you for many years now. You and Sherlock have a bond like I’ve never seen. You are the one person in the world, it seems, that can not only stand to be around my brother all of the time but actually enjoys his company for long periods of time. If that doesn’t say something, I don’t know what does,” he pointed out.

John shrugged. “He’s my best friend. I can’t imagine it any other way.”

“I know.” Mycroft eyed him closely in the dimness. “Sherlock is better with you. He’s been better since the day you limped into his life. Even when he pulled that stunt with faked suicide, it was because of his heart. Sherlock discovered it was there,” he said and John swallowed.

“I know. Sherlock’s biggest problem is that he’s a good man and tries so hard to not be. He wanted to be empty and cold but he isn’t. It’s not in his nature.” John smiled. “It’s in his nature to hurt and love and everything in between and I know I’ve made a difference in him. He’s made just as much of one in me.”

Mycroft smiled. “Do you know why I like you, John?” he asked and John nearly started in surprise. “Because you understand Sherlock the way very few people can or ever will. He needs it. He deserves it.” Mycroft sighed fondly looking up at the dais. “My brother is the one person in this world I cherish most. He is my little brother and in spite of everything else, I love him just as I have since he was a curly haired newborn in my mother’s arms.” He looked back with a distant sadness that John understood all too well. “I’m happy he has you to take care of him. Please do so,” he added in a small voice. “Nobody else can help or hurt Sherlock the way you could if you wanted. For all our differences, John, I want you to be there for Sherlock because he won’t allow anyone else to be. Marriage will only give him more permanence and more of a reason to let you help him as long as you both shall live,” he pointed out with a quirked smile.

John ducked his head, feeling his cheeks warm. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after him as best I can. Because as much as he doesn’t want it, he’ll always have my help. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me and I won’t let anything take that away from me. Not again,” he whispered. “Sherlock is mine, just like you said, and I’m going to keep him.”

Mycroft nodded. “Good evening, John.” With those parting words he left, leaving John to mull over his thoughts alone.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Sherlock was fiddling with his cufflinks when John rounded the corner, only to stop dead when he caught sight of Sherlock. They were meeting at the doors to the library, set to walk in together to go to the altar and there was only five minutes until it was time to go. John hadn’t seen Sherlock in his wedding clothes and as he looked at him, he was grateful Mycroft’s tailor had seen to it that Sherlock was well dressed.

He was gorgeous.

John walked over and Sherlock looked up, only to stop and look up once more, cufflink problems abandoned as he stared at John, lips parted slightly. John raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked, reaching out to pull Sherlock’s wrist to him so he could fix the cuff links. “I can see now why you hate these things,” he said as he wrestled the one that had come undone back into place.

“John,” Sherlock said, voice sounding breathless. 

John looked up into Sherlock’s wide eyes and swallowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked with a frown.

Sherlock shook his head. “No, nothing, I just-“ He swallowed and offered a visibly shy smile. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said evenly, eyes playful as he stepped back, looking John over at arm’s length, eyes drinking in every inch of John’s charcoal tux and bright blue tie.

John laughed. “Yeah, right,” he said, then smiled and rolled his eyes. “You’re pretty damn gorgeous yourself.” Sherlock was wearing all black- tux, waistcoat, bowtie- with a white crisp white shirt. He had always looked good in all black.

“No,” Sherlock shook his head. “You don’t understand, I’ve always thought you were handsome, it’s a given, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything in my life more beautiful than you are right now, John.” He slid their hands together, smiling brightly. “Your eyes have never been so blue, at the very least.”

John blushed slightly. “Thanks,” he said, looking up. “Almost show time,” he murmured and Sherlock nodded. “Still time to run out if you’re keen,” John joked and Sherlock grinned.

“Never.” The doors opened and Sherlock and John each took a deep breath, giving each other one more comforting smile before linking arms so that they could walk through the doors, smiling brightly for everyone to see as they took their last steps as unmarried men.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John and Sherlock stood quietly as Craig gave a little speech about love and the sanctity of marriage, a pleasant few words, in John’s opinion. However, just before time came to get the rings, John heard Sherlock’s small intake of breath and a whispered ‘oh!’ and he froze. _Oh no_ , he thought.

“It was the priest!” Sherlock breathed so that only John could hear him. John grimaced.

“Sherlock, I swear to God,” he started, only to be interrupted by Craig calling for the rings. They turned to face one another and each took the ring from their respective best man before turning back around. John saw the bright look in Sherlock’s eyes and gave him a pointed glare, shaking his head minutely. 

John was amazed that Sherlock managed to not snap at Craig to hurry it along or something of the sort, though he was fidgeting in his own way, fingers twitching as John put the ring on his hand and eyes unfocused as he did the same robotically. When Craig finally announced them married and told them to kiss, Sherlock darted in, kissing John hard and fast before taking his hand. “Come on, we have to get back to London!” he said, tugging John along as he bypassed all the well-wishers and they ran upstairs to get their things together. 

John considered, as he hurriedly packed all his clothes, that he should probably be upset at his new husband for wanting to run off just after the wedding ceremony, completely forsaking the reception, but in the end, John knew he’d absolutely chosen correctly when he found himself more excited about the prospect of catching their man than he did about eating cake and being embarrassed by best man speeches and horrible dancing.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John rounded the corner and stopped still, cursing the fact he didn’t have his gun as he found himself face to face with a rogue priest with a knife. “Bugger,” he grumbled, starting to back up, only to meet the solid body of the second priest. “Shit.”

“Not so fast, my son,” he said and John snorted loudly at the address. “Can’t have any loose ends.”

John hummed. “Too bad you forgot one thing,” he said, noticing Sherlock sneaking up on the knife-wielding priest from behind.

“What’s that?” a voice hissed in his ear.

John braced himself and nodded to Sherlock. “There’s two of us, mate,” he said, pushing backwards with his legs hard, sending him and his attacker back onto the pavement. He quickly leapt up and spun around, punching his attacker in the throat as soon as he reached his knees. He then kicked him in the head, sufficiently knocking him out. He spun around, only to gasp when he saw Sherlock fighting to hold off the knife pointed at his throat. “Sherlock!” he cried, running over, not thinking twice before barreling into the attacker, taking them both flying.

Somewhere in the mess of limbs as they rolled around, John felt a sharp burn and cried out, shoving back onto his feet as he stumbled away from the prone figure until he met the side of a skip, where he leaned to catch his breath. He watched Sherlock rush over, only to stop when he realized the priest was unconscious. A nasty gash on his forehead from where he and John had hit the ground. John groaned, reaching into his jacket only to come back with blood on his fingers. “Well shit.”

Sherlock looked up only to gasp and rush over. “John?!” he asked, looking at the blood on his hand. “Where are you hurt? Are you alright? John, say something-“

“Shut up and let me then!” John snapped, groaning. “Just a nick, not stabbed, stop freaking out-“

“You’re _bleeding_ -“

“Just a nick to the arm, I’m really alright,” he said, rolling his eyes when Sherlock pushed his jacket off of his shoulder to inspect the cut just inside his sleeve, ripping his shirt wider to look at it. “See? I’m fine,” he said and Sherlock nodded, biting his lip.

“Good. That’s- that’s good,” he said and John grinned, ruffling Sherlock’s hair affectionately.

“I can hear the sirens already, who was on this case? Dimmock? Or that new woman?” he asked and Sherlock sighed.

“Dimmock,” he answered with a nod. “Best look after these two for a bit longer,” he said, looking back at the unconscious men. “Have to say, you did quite well,” Sherlock admitted.

John smirked. “Always underestimate me.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Dimmock whistled as he took in John and Sherlock, the former of which was sitting on the back of an ambulance in his undershirt having his arm bandaged while the latter hovered. “Where the hell did you two come from dressed like that?”

“Wedding,” Sherlock answered.

Dimmock raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Whose?” he asked.

John and Sherlock exchanged a look then both of them giggled. “Actually, ours,” John choked out through his laughter, cringing when the woman bandaging his arm tugged tighter. 

Dimmock stared. “You got married? _Today_?”

Sherlock nodded with a shrug. “Technically yesterday afternoon. It’s nearly three in the morning now.”

John snickered. “Bastard solved a murder in the middle of our vows, finished marrying me, then dragged me off to catch some murderous priests. That’s a hell of a story.”

Sherlock smirked. “Dare anybody at work to have a better story to tell about their wedding,” he said and John burst into giggles again.

“Stop making me laugh at a crime scene!” he chastised, leaning his head against Sherlock’s shoulder as he fought another wave of laughter.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The next morning, John woke up nearer to noon that he would’ve liked and came out to find Sherlock passed out on the couch. He walked over and sat on the edge of the couch near Sherlock’s hip, ruffling his hair. “Why didn’t you get in bed you daft thing?” he asked and Sherlock groaned, rolling over.

“Fell asleep responding to angry texts from Mycroft.” He yawned and handed John his phone. “We made Mycroft curse, isn’t that lovely? He rarely curses.” He twisted around and laid his head on John’s lap. “Mmmmm sorry I botched the whole ‘wedding day’ thing. I really didn’t mean to do that, I just worked it out and-“

“I know you, you numpty,” John said, stroking his hair back from his eyes. “It wasn’t ideal, but I’d be lying if I said I would’ve had more fun drinking too much champagne and watching Lestrade hit on your cousin with the large breasts again.” He chuckled. “Mostly, I’m just a bit amazed that we’ve now been married a few hours short of an entire day and for one, we didn’t wake up together this morning, and even more surprisingly, we’ve still never had sex,” he said and Sherlock smirked.

“I’ve offered several times-“

“Yeah, while I’m getting dressed for work, while I’m _at_ work, when I’m trying to sleep at four in the morning and you’re bored, when you’re bored and I’m heading out with my mates for a drink and running late, basically any time that is inconvenient,” he teased and Sherlock grinned.

“Not my fault you pick paying the rent over a shag,” he mocked. He hummed and looked up at John searchingly. “You know what? You don’t have work today,” he said, reaching up to tug John down and kiss him.

John hummed. “While I do appreciate the idea, really, _really_ do, we also promised we’d be in by one to give our statements to Dimmock and it’s nearly noon now. We’ve still got to get dressed and get to meet him-“

“But that’s _boring_ ,” Sherlock whined, pouting. “Wouldn’t you rather get me naked?!” he asked and John laughed.

“Oh definitely, but he’ll send someone over to pick us up if we’re too late and I’d rather not get interrupted by an angry copper when I’m trying to have a nice shag with my husband,” he said and Sherlock sighed dramatically, rolling off the couch before standing.

“You’re boring, come on, let’s get this over with then.” Sherlock stopped on his way out of the room, then smirked. “Quicker we get done, the quicker we can come home, right?”

John groaned, then nodded. “God yes,” he said, jumping up to run get a shower.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art: We're All A Little Mad](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5154659) by [Trishkafibble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trishkafibble/pseuds/Trishkafibble)




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